Dreams and Darkness Collide
by Epic Solemnity
Summary: LV/HP Slash: AU: How different would Harry be if he was given a life without the expectation of saving the world? How different would he be if his hero-complex was still intact, but so twistedly dark, that he has to go through desperate means to hide it?
1. Chapter 1

**Dreams and Darkness Collide**

**Summary:** JK Rowling's once said: "That if Merope had lived and raised Voldemort, he would have turned out to be much different, probably a better person." But just _how _much different? And how much different would Harry be if he was given a life with a loving family and a life without the expectation of saving the world? How different would he be if his hero-complex was still intact, but so consuming, so twistedly dark, that he had to go through desperate means to hide it?

**Warnings:** Inspired by _Dexter_. **Major** AU. Slight gore/torture. Dark themes. SLASH between Harry and… Voldemort (Tom Riddle) (though, if you're reading this just for slash, I'd advise you to hurry and exit). It's light (well, dark in nature, but light as in its not heavy) and it's slow-going. Also, a small, small bit of Harry/Ginny

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Chapter One:**

"P-please…"

Albert Kinley whimpered fearfully on the ground. His body was stiff and motionless while his mouth and eyes were the only parts of his anatomy capable of moving. A pool of thick ruby blood haloed around the blond hair, staining the silky strands a distorted pink. Albert breathed painfully through his nostrils while his eyes danced fretfully back and forth, watching the dark and lithe figure slowly pace back and forth. The figure looming over him walked with such grace, such power and confidence. It was a far cry from what Albert saw from the man during the day, the awkward twitch, the uneven steps, and the poor posture.

"_Please_!" he screamed hoarsely.

The dark figure crouched before him, his vibrant green eyes so very unnatural. They were usually hidden behind thick frames, but tonight, this seemed like a whole new identity.

"What are you begging for?" A lazy smile played across the young man's perfectly sculptured lips. "It sounds beautiful, dear Albert, but it's falling on deaf ears. You will get _no _mercy from me."

Albert gave a thick cry of disagreement as the sharp blade twirled expertly in his captor's fingers, the tip dancing so close to his vulnerable skin. The boy was taunting him, trying to strike fear in him. And it was working.

"Why?" Albert breathed painfully. His naked body shuddered against the freezing temperature of the room, but that was the least of his worries. A searing and burning wound bled across his neck. The smell of blood was overwhelming but it also brought with it fear that one wound wouldn't be all he had to endure.

"Why?" the boy mocked. A single black eyebrow arched highly. "I love when they ask that."

Albert swallowed painfully, desperate for anyone to hear him. Just upstairs, he had a wife and three young children. Surely his screams could reach them? Though, judging from the smirk on the boy's face, he assumed his hopes were for naught.

Through wide and disbelieving eyes, he watched as the boy leaned away, arching down toward Albert's lower regions. A gloved hand pressed against his belly and slowly slid downward to his private area. The fingers raked through his pubic hair before settling against his groin. Albert squeezed his eyes shut, fear and humility burning his stomach and chest.

Abruptly, his emotions took a sharp turn. For the worse. It was out of his control, he couldn't… he couldn't understand! Instead of fear, he felt an overwhelming sense of lust. Albert groaned in horror as his cock hardened almost painfully and most certainly unnaturally.

"Why?" the boy repeated again. "It's because you lot make me _ill_. Really, I taste you. I see you. I can feel what you're feeling…" his captor cast a disgusted look at Albert. "I can feel how tainted and greasy your soul really is."

Albert rolled his eyes upward as the tip of the knife traced the underbelly of his erection. "Oh _god_, please no."

"Oh yes," the boy smiled thinly. "I think it's only fair." Suddenly, the teasing and playful expression on his captive's face vanished, leaving a dark and dangerous gleam. "Those two little girls…" the boy tsked. "What were their names again? Ah, yes, Erica and Sandra. A pair of innocent seven-year-olds you thought appropriate enough to fuck until they bled senseless. Your filthy DNA should have been proof enough to convict you, but you powerful politicians always have an inside man, don't you?"

"No, no," Albert denied. "I never touched those girls!"

"Lies!"

The tip of the knife dug into his erection, drawing a piercing scream from the unfortunate man. "Ok! Ok!'" Albert cried, still somehow feeling the powerful lust despite the obvious pain and horror. It was unnatural. As if the boy could… "I did it! I did it! Please, stop. Please. I couldn't control myself! What I did was wrong, I know."

Those green eyes slowly slid from Albert's erection to his face. For a moment, the boy's impassive face gave Albert a flicker of hope. "If you truly felt remorse, I would be able to feel it. Just as I felt how scarred and torn those girls were. They will never be the same. Ever. And neither will you." A spark of insanity entered the clear green eyes. "I will enjoy this immensely."

The blade raised and Albert saw his sunken and pale face staring back at him through the bloody reflection. "Please… please Harry!"

The blade lowered with ferocity.

**{Dreams}**

"…reinforces our theory _Custos_ is a man."

Kingsley glanced away from the Auror Investigator when he was alerted to another presence entering the room. Seeing who had entered, the Head Auror motioned the Minister over, mindful to keep his expression closed when the open door behind the Minister revealed the family of the victim standing outside the room. As soon as it was shut, however, his face clouded darkly.

"Is it him?" the Minister inquired, walking around the naked body of Albert Kinley. The older wizard had an air of importance and grace as his dark eyes assessed the mutilated body. In particular, his eyes strayed near the dismembered manhood. All the men in the room winced, their groins throbbing in pity.

"Him?" Kinsley growled in question. "_Custos_? Yes. Who else would it be?"

The Minister offered him a withering look before he continued to assess the Unspeakables as they collected samples of fibers and blood, anything they could get their hands on. Their wands were moving near the body, alerting them to any blood or fluid that had been previously wiped clean. Aside from Kinley's blood, they were coming up empty-handed. As they always had.

_Custos _was the name the press gave Britain's recent serial killer. It translated to 'protector' or 'keeper' in English. Both a fitting and glorified name for a killer who sought his victims based on past crimes they committed. Every one of the _Custos'_ victims were either tried or accused of a crime, but never prosecuted. Some would say _Custos _was a hero, perhaps, for ridding society of scum that were never punished for the wrong they committed.

But Kingsley disagreed wholeheartedly. _Custos _was no better than the victims he killed. And he hated that damn name. As much as Kingsley wanted to change it to something more neutral, the press had gotten hold of the story and twisted it into something of fictional bullshit. This publicity and fame was most likely going to their killer's head.

"Britain hasn't seen a serial killer in decades. The closest was Grindelwald," Sirius Black murmured to the quiet room. "Most importantly, killings like this are extremely rare in the Wizarding World. It's ruthless, bloody, and almost Muggle. _Custos _doesn't use magic in his killings." The Auror walked around the body. "While it is a long process, there _are_ ways to track magical signatures. Muggle means are also traceable, but not from the bare clues he's leaving behind."

"Which means _Custos _has intelligence," the Minister murmured in consideration. "From the look of things, he was watching our friend here for a long while."

The group of Auror Investigators turned their attention on Minister Riddle, a man of power, influence, and charm. Riddle had to be in his middle seventies, yet his age did not distract from the sharp aristocratic planes on his face. His hair was parted to the side in a short cut with many strands of silver staining the once midnight black. Usually Kingsley saw a strict mask of impassiveness, if not handsome boredom. But today, those brown eyes were all but glittering behind his glasses.

"Albert Kinley's accusation of double rape was cleared five weeks ago. With it, the media stopped reporting and the general public began to turn their attention elsewhere. Which means our boy is patient. He lies in the weeds, waiting until his prey has relaxed before striking." Riddle crouched next to the prone figure of Albert Kinley, seemingly not bothered by the corpse. But by now, they were all accustomed. "His past victims were also convicted and released of charges weeks, if not months before their deaths."

Eight deaths so far. The first two were sloppy, and yet, there hadn't been any evidence, any use of magic at the crime scenes. _Custos _has been around for five months now and the Ministry was still on odds with who they were looking for.

"But," Riddle continued. "His confidence is reaching its prime. Not only due to the cleanliness of the crime scenes, but the amount of killings. The time between each victim is becoming less and less."

"Which means we have to catch this bastard before he gets the chance to tune his _skill_," Wilkinson barked. "His motives may be enchanting to a number of the public, but he strives for attention. Soon, he will run out of criminals to kill and he'll be turning to innocents to satisfy his lust."

It was a good theory, Kingsley thought, and yet, his attention was on the expression the Minister wore. "Do you have another theory, Minister?"

When Tom Riddle was elected Minister four years ago, it had taken the Ministry employees a long while to swallow Riddle's involvement. Unlike Fudge, Riddle took an active part in running the Ministry. It wouldn't be surprising to find Riddle jumping between the Departments and working alongside the employees for a short while. The man's sharp intelligence and wide range of abilities made it possible for Riddle to offer useful aid to the Department he was working with at the time. With the new method of involvement, it didn't take long for the politicians and employees at the Ministry to admire Riddle.

Of course, many also admired Riddle before he became Minister. Almost sickeningly so. The man had been a respected Professor at Hogwarts before dabbling with politics.

Though, there were some who found it hard to accept an outsider in their Department, even if it _was _the Minister. For example, there were investigators in the Auror division that wanted to prove themselves worthy of a promotion in the ranks. But when Riddle constantly intervened, it made it almost impossible to voice their opinions on the subject. Kingsley wanted to give his men a chance, but when it came to their current serial killer, he needed all the useful input he could obtain.

It almost amused him at how dominant Riddle was with his control. The man was a control freak and he held his Ministry and the people within it so possessively. He seemed to know everyone's name and interests and he used that to his advantage. To have someone like _Custos _directly challenging Riddle and his Ministry probably gave the Minister a drive to be just as involved as the Aurors.

Kingsley knew one thing. He would move hell and earth just to be with Riddle when they confronted _Custos_.

"I disagree with Auror Wilkinson's view on _Custos'_ motives." Riddle bowed his head, peering closer at the corpse's face. "This is not for attention. This is no game to the man. If it were a game to him, he would be leaving us clues, playing with us and his victims. All of his victims' deaths have resulted in a minimal amount of damage. An attacker could stab his victim countless of times before they die, unless they knew the human anatomy well. _Custos _was able to kill his victim by a direct stab to his chest, killing the man instantly."

"And what of the cock?" one Auror exclaimed sharply. "And the neck? It looked to me like he was bloody playing!"

Riddle offered the man a cool stare, only continuing when the younger Auror glanced away. "Black," Riddle addressed the Auror nearby. "You agree our killer is male, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Black nodded sharply. "Judging from the number of bruises on Kinley's body, I'd say it would be a larger male we're looking at. Probably larger than Kinely himself. Six feet five inches? Two hundred and twenty pounds, possibly."

Riddle gave an interested grunt. "It does seem possible," Riddle gave a grin that suggested he was just humoring Black. "Though, _I'd _wager that we have a very lithe, if not thin, male. Perhaps average height." His brown eyes swept across Black face. "There are physical combatting arts, are there not? Just because one may be female or a small male doesn't mean they have a handicap."

Some of the Aurors coughed into their fists. One of the three female Aurors placed her hands on her hips, eyeing Sirius Black unhappily.

Riddle offered a small smile before continuing. "Considering our killer doesn't use magic and only physical and medication means as sedating, I would guess we have a wizard who is strongly related to the Muggle world. Usually wizards don't take up physical combating over dueling. Or we have an individual linked to authority."

"Authority?" a sandy blond questioned hesitantly.

"Look at the pattern of the bruises on the arms," Wilkinson motioned toward the arm. The viewers leaned forward and Kingsley found himself doing the same. "It resembles a technique the Aurors teach their recruits and students when they go through training camp."

Silence stretched across the room at the possibility of the killer being one of their own. Kingsley clenched his fists briefly. Wilkinson was correct. The bruises were precise and so unique of a pattern that it _had _to be the offensive combating techniques they taught their Aurors.

"The bruises are small, meaning our male does not have an impressive stature. Perhaps aristocratic," Riddle spoke airily, if bored. "I'm certain he was wearing gloves?"

The Unspeakable waving her wand over the bruises gave an affirmative as she studied the results. "Leather gloves."

Riddle stood up from his crouched position and smiled darkly. "Our killer's lithe stature could also explain the cut around the throat. This is usually used from behind to control their victims." Brown eyes danced toward the young Auror who had interrupted earlier. "That would explain the neck wound. As for the _cock _dismemberment, it is a direct relation to Kinley's alleged rape. Our killer is serving his brand of justice. He does not _play_."

"He enjoys it!" Wilkinson growled.

Riddle gave a cold, lipless smile. "I did not say he didn't. I'm certain he does enjoy it. But he will not kill anyone he deems 'innocent'."

"We're looking for an average male, most likely Caucasian," Black spoke into his wand, recording any necessary note and reminders. "Connected to the Auror training camps and physical combat. He's precise, intelligent, confident, most likely a narcissist… which means he was probably in Slytherin…" the man muttered quietly, ignoring the exasperated looks he received from his team members.

"Dominant," Riddle mused, a ghost of a smile across his face. Kingsley became instantly suspicious at the Minister's obvious enthusiasm. "We are dealing with an Alpha male who goes against the norms and challenges authority. He sees himself as the only _one _who can take justice into his own hands. To be the hero to those who can't take their revenge. He's working alone. I would also wager that he is either connected to the Aurors or he's in a position of power during the day, either a lawyer or a doctor. He needs to be neat and orderly."

"Can we all address the elephant in the room?" Black questioned after recording the necessary notes.

The Aurors and Unspeakables paused in what they were doing, looking at the corpse's face.

"How the hell do all his victims die with smiles on their faces? As if they _love _the killing? There are no pain medications in the victims' system. They feel everything. So why are their faces so relaxed and bright when their death was obviously painful?"

Kingsley kept a piercing eye on Riddle as the man placed a fist to his mouth in contemplation.

"He could manipulate their faces post-mortem…"someone suggested.

It was a sound explanation, but Kingsley was sharp enough to see Riddle did not agree.

**{Darkness}**

Harry ran a hand threw his disorderly hair, trying to wipe off the spilt coffee on his shirt with his opposite hand, all the while, clutching a cup of coffee. The passengers in the lift gave him a distasteful look as he accidently tipped a few dribbles of hot coffee on the lift floor. He scrambled to make the coffee level, meanwhile, flashing a bashful grin toward the watchful occupants.

"So sorry," he mumbled, watching as one woman brushed off her coffee-stained high heels with a handkerchief.

She breathed heavily before offering him a strained smile. "Perhaps you should put a Levitating Charm on the coffee next time. Or a spell to prevent spills. You _are _a wizard, dear, are you not?" As soon as the lift came to a halt, she pushed passed him and hurried down the corridor. Always in a hurry.

Harry awkwardly moved to the side of the corridor, keeping his head down as the others passed him. He twisted the top of the plastic coffee cup and watched the group beneath unruly bangs. They were such sheep. The lot of them. Harry was always so painfully aware of this during Monday mornings at the Ministry, especially after a long weekend of being antisocial. Or, as antisocial as he could get with Hermione, Ron, and Ginny breathing down his neck. Their company was an improvement from the vast majority of the people Harry saw every day at work.

He couldn't necessarily fault them. They were, in the most part, innocent in everything. But their innocence also bordered the line of complete stupidity and a voluntary sense of naivety. How could they not see that the world they lived in was corrupt? Politicians ruled the world and got away with crimes that no man should ever commit.

Harry carefully raked his fingernails through his hair once more, intensely ruffling it to the point of torture. These people saw what they wanted to. Harry clenched his jaw and breathed angrily through his nostrils as his fingers tightened on the cup of coffee.

"Fools," he muttered angrily to himself.

He rolled his neck upward, a nervous twitch to his upper lip as his fingers began to tremble. Now was most definitely not the time for breakdowns. He was prone to breakdowns since his parents' death and his own… near-death experience. It had happened two years ago, yet it was still fresh in his mind— replaying cruelly each time he shut his eyes. He was only twenty-years-old and he felt like he had lived the life of a seventy-year-old. He was weary and exhausted. He had nightmares, compulsive disorders, and a secret so dark he was disgusted at himself at times.

While there were times he was disgusted with himself, he realized he would never regret it. He couldn't. It was what kept him sane in this mundane and corrupt world. When his parents had been so brutally killed and their murderer walked away free, Harry had found his whole person changing dramatically. And not for the best.

_No! _Now wasn't the time to think of the past or his demons. That was reserved for weekends. _His _weekends.

Just as Harry tightened the lid of the cup of coffee, someone bumped into his shoulder, sending the cup flying. Vibrant green eyes narrowed into slits as he watched the coffee splash and splatter across the corridor. He snapped his neck around, staring dully at the man who had pushed into him. His sharp stare met with equally, if not more, piercing eyes.

Harry blinked, his face melting into his practiced awkwardness.

"So sorry, my boy," the Minister apologized. Riddle raised his chin and looked down his nose at the coffee-soaked Harry. "Mr. Potter, isn't it?"

Harry lowered his chin in submission, though, his whole body protested against it. It was for appearances, for protection. He had to keep reminding himself of that. Someday, _someday_ he would be comfortable enough with himself to show the true side of his personality. It was still too early, still too new for him. "Yes, Minister."

He could count on one hand how many times he encountered Riddle. It was just in passing and the man never noticed him. But _everyone_ knew the Minister. Harry wouldn't turn a blind eye to the man, no matter how irritatingly good the man was at sprinkling sugary-sweet praise across everyone he met. Politian's were so…

Riddle grunted. "I apologize, I'm in a hurry. Otherwise I would get you a new cup of coffee. Perhaps another time?" The offer for future interaction was hopeful, yet the underlying fib did little to enforce the genuine nature.

Unfazed and uninterested, Harry looked beyond Riddle's shoulder, catching sight of Sirius with a group of his fellow Aurors. When Sirius noticed Harry, the older man perked up and swam through the crowd to reach him. Good. A necessary and welcome distraction. Harry wasn't too fond of Riddle, especially when the man tasted so… _unfamiliar _to him.

In fact, the whole corridor, which slowly began to crowd with Aurors, had a dark taste to it. Somber. And Harry knew exactly what caused it. His born telempath abilities made it possible for him to feel others' emotions… and also manipulate them. And right now, the Aurors were both angry and upset over their recent find. Riddle on the other hand… Harry couldn't pinpoint the man's emotions. It was if a solid wall was placed between them, blocking any emotions coming from the older man.

It must have been Occlumency. Either that, or Riddle just didn't have emotions. Whatever it was, it was calming to Harry but also unnerving. He had never met someone he couldn't read before with the exception of his old Headmaster. _Ah, _Dumbledore. That man had been the highlight of Harry's education at Hogwarts.

"Harry!" Sirius reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. "It's good to see you. You're right on time, every Monday morning with my cup of java." The man's smile dimmed as he noticed the split coffee and the presence of Riddle standing before him. "Minister Riddle, you know Harry, my godson."

Harry spied Riddle from beneath his lashes, observing the man as he observed him back. Riddle blinked, turning to look at Sirius and breaking eye contact with Harry. "Of course," the man responded, as if insulted. "I believe he works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, am I correct?"

"That's correct," Sirius responded for Harry. "He used to be a Seeker for the English National Quidditch team. They took him right after he graduated."

Oh _Merlin. _Was Sirius really acting the proud father? Harry smirked lightly, keeping his head down. It suited Sirius. His godfather didn't have any children himself and seemed to step in as Harry's father when James and Lily passed away.

"Indeed," Riddle responded, bored underneath his false sense of interest. "That _is_ impressive. Though, I'm afraid I must get going, you as well, Mr. Black. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Potter."

Harry tentatively gave a weak handshake to the offered hand, wanting more than anything to crush the man's hand. Riddle was known throughout the Ministry as being a friendly individual who knew everyone's name. He was a slimy bastard, that's what Harry thought.

As the man swept down the corridor, Harry watched him go, noticing the man didn't look back. As if Harry was just a mere inconvenience. It was a bit disappointing, actually. Tom Riddle was supposed to be beyond brilliant. But he was just like the rest of them. He only saw what he wanted to, and an awkward and antisocial young wizard was not his definition of a serial killer.

"He's on the case now?" Harry inquired as he watched Riddle enter the Auror offices. He turned back to Sirius, watching as the man's face darkened.

"Bastard," Sirius muttered quietly. "He always pokes his nose in each Department. Of course he took an interest in our Department at a time like this. He'll take away the limelight where it's due and shower himself with it. "

"Is that so?" Harry mused. "He hasn't worked in _my _Department."

Sirius chuckled pressing his hand against Harry's head. "Be lucky. The man takes over everything. He's a bloody prude, that's what he is…"

The man continued badmouthing the Minister, oblivious as Harry directed his intensity in the direction of Riddle. The young Potter observed the Minister through the glass windows as the man stood near a board and studied the photographs posted up. Harry could easily see the dominance in the man's stance and the arrogance. While Riddle liked to parade his humility around the Ministry, Harry could clearly see the real man beneath. There was just… _something _about the man Harry couldn't place his finger on.

It was obvious that Riddle thought pretty highly of himself. He liked to interact with those considered _beneath _him, but Harry knew he could barely tolerate their presence. Just now, Harry knew it took a great deal of restrain on Riddle's behalf to interact with Harry. If Riddle didn't have a reputation to uphold, Harry was certain the man wouldn't have even stopped to apologize after bumping into him.

Suddenly, Riddle looked up, meeting Harry's eyes through the glass. For the first time in ages, Harry felt himself turn cold. Was it really possible Harry could be found out? Would Tom Riddle be the man who would find a way to prove Harry's guilt?

No. No one was that good with the exception of Harry himself. Only Harry had the brilliance and the ability to fool everyone who tried to catch him.

Riddle walked over to the windows, drawing Harry's close attention. The Minister motioned Sirius inside before slamming the blinds closed, dismissing Harry's attentiveness. The younger wizard was left standing there, insulted. His anger bubbled to the surface at Riddle's overwhelming arrogance. It clashed horribly with Harry's own pride.

"He seems rather fond of you, though," Harry spoke with barely suppressed anger. His hands clenched at his sides as he considered Riddle. Was this man truly a threat?

He wouldn't know until things unraveled further, but he did know one thing. Harry would have to watch the man closely _and _Sirius. He wouldn't stand in the face of Riddle's manipulations as the Minister twisted Sirius. Sirius was _his _godfather, not Riddle's puppet. Harry knew Riddle could be possessive when it came to his Ministry and the workers within it, but Harry was just as territorial.

"Who _wouldn't_ be interested in me?" Sirius pondered out loud, a thoughtful look to his face before he broke down in hearty barks of laughter.

It took Harry a moment to realize it was his cue to grin. He was so caught up in Riddle and the possible threat the man carried that his reactions were sluggish. Sirius quieted when he saw through Harry. A heavy hand thumped him on the back, cupping the back of his neck.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Sirius asked.

Harry easily recovered, smiling grimly at his godfather. He held true affection for Sirius, something Harry rarely felt nowadays… since the attack. "Yeah, just a bit… disorientated, I suppose." He glanced down at the spilt coffee. "Sorry about the coffee."

"No problem, kid," Sirius squeezed his neck once more before waving his wand and cleaning up the mess. "Are we on for lunch today?"

"Of course," Harry agreed, grinning. "That is, if you can get away. I'll assume if I don't see you that you were held prisoner by Riddle."

Sirius winked as he made his way toward the Auror offices. Harry watched him go, his smile slowly darkening into a frown. Despite his cautiousness, Harry was a bit… thrilled with the challenge of covering his tracks with a whole team of Aurors after him. It was nothing different than the past few months, but now Riddle had taken a special interest in the case. In _him_.

Harry was looking forward to throwing Riddle off his game and making the man look like a fool in front of the whole Ministry.

{**Collide**}

Kingsley slowly advanced forward, stalking the man sitting at the table with piles of files and scrolls surrounding him. If Kingsley hadn't kept tabs on the Minister throughout the day, he would have been oblivious to the man's current location. How _odd _that the man was taking such an interest in _Custos _case that he holed himself down in the Records Department.

"Find anything useful?" Kingsley asked in his deep baritone voice.

Riddle jumped lightly, casting a startled look at Kingsley from over his shoulder. "Auror Shacklebolt," Riddle breathed. "I was unaware you were taking an interest in following me around the Ministry." The smile the Minister threw Kingsley was strained.

Kingsley cleared his throat and stepped into the small room before shutting the door behind him. From years of practice and skill, Kingsley kept his approach to the Minister as quiet and cautious as possible. His hand brushed his wand holster out of habit as he came to a stop near Riddle's chair. His dark eyes cast a glance around the files before settling on the Minister's expected face.

"I need to know if we're on the same side," Kingsley murmured quietly.

Riddle raised a finely shaped eyebrow. "Regarding?"

"_Custos_," Kingsley stressed.

The Minister frowned. "I… forgive me, Auror Shacklebolt, but I can't seem to remember a time where I gave you the impression that I was in alliance with a serial killer."

The tone of voice Riddle used made Kingsley feel foolish for even asking, but he also knew it was a tactic politicians used to pacify and control the conversation. Kingsley placed a hand on the desk Riddle sat at before leaning his back against it. "Then you must forgive me, Minister Riddle, for my bold question." Kingsley looked down at Riddle's relaxed hands on top of the desk. "But you seemed to take a rather strong interest toward _Custos_ this morning. And you seem to dedicate your time looking through old court files when you haven't spoken about this lead to any of my men."

"Excuse an old man for being interested, Kingsley," Riddle smiled thinly. "I regret feeling this intrigued by someone so brutal and cruel, but you must understand that I take this personally. It's been five months and you and your team have yet to come up with anything."

It was an insult underneath an airy confession. Kingsley adjusted his stance to a more defensive posture.

"As far as the court files, it was a sudden strike of intuition. I didn't want to share my suspicions if they proved wrong." Riddle took off his glasses and rubbed a handkerchief across the lenses. "Perhaps I'm still a bit paranoid, Auror Shacklebolt, but is there another reason behind your earlier accusations?"

"Accusations? It was not meant to be an accusation, Minister," Kingsley quickly corrected. His locked gazes with equally dark eyes and found himself confessing. "There have been… rumors, whispers, from higher up the chain that there is a secret group of skilled and dangerous individuals working for our Ministry. While I don't disagree of such an elite team, I do disagree with the participants if they involve certain… serial killers. I just wouldn't want you capturing _Custos _and using him as your weapon. He warrants the punishment he rightfully deserves."

Riddle stared at him hard and cold before he broke out into a wide smile. Chuckles escaped past the man's teeth as he nodded pleasantly at Kingsley. "It is always amusing to hear what the employees conjure up as rumors, Kingsley. I can reassure you there is not 'elite team' under my control, going out to accomplish my bidding." Riddle chuckled once again. "I have Aurors and Unspeakables to do that work. Besides, political negotiations are always the correct step in ruling a country, don't you agree?"

"Yes, yes of course." Kingsley pushed off from the desk, rubbing the back of his head in quiet shame. It had been just a rumor, he knew, but he _had _to confirm it himself.

He coughed politely in his fist and motioned toward the case files in front of Riddle. "Have you found anything useful?" he inquired in a lighter tone.

Riddle surveyed his bowed head before shuffling through some papers. "Actually, I _did _come across something rather intriguing. All of _Custos' _victims were brought to trial or either accused of crimes before the charges were dropped." Riddle placed his glassed back on his nose and tapped the cover of a closed file. "Out of all eight victims, the ones who made it to trial had something in common."

Kingsley straightened, his eyes widening a fraction. "Yes?"

"They had different lawyers defending them and their cases, but it is rather interesting to note that the lawyer for the plaintiffs was consistent for eighty percent of our victims."

"Who?" Kinsley demanded sharply, unable to believe they had their first lead. It would make sense. The prosecutor who represented the plaintiffs would have been tittered to lose the case for their clients. They would be insulted to know a rapist or murderer walked free, thus, they would seek their revenge by killing. And Riddle also said _Custos _likely held a position of power during the day. A lawyer had a great deal of power.

Riddle stood up.

"Hermione Granger."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Ms. Granger?"

Kingsley shut his mouth with a disgruntled _snap. _It would seemMinister Riddle was able to call out to the witch before he could even utter the first syllable. Beside him, Sirius Black glowered as Riddle pushed past them and approached the young woman. If it continued like this, it wouldn't be long until Riddle took complete control over the Law Enforcement Department. Kingsley had already spied the man looking for leads by himself and now the Minister insisted he accompany them as they questioned Hermione Granger.

Originally, it was decided that Sirius Black was going to speak to Miss Granger. He was familiar with her and Kingsley thought an informal approach would be more effective. With the Minister questioning the young witch, it would force an immediate defensive mechanism. Riddle was her superior and she would most likely feel threatened.

Granger turned, her unruly curls tied to the nape of her neck in a proper bun. "Yes?" she looked flustered, as if she had just come from a meeting that hadn't gone too well. "Minister Riddle," she exclaimed in quiet surprise. "What can I do for you?" She then caught sight of the two Aurors behind him and paled slightly. "And Aurors Shacklebolt and Black…" The two Aurors gave a quick nod in greeting.

"I hope you're not busy, Ms. Granger," Riddle began in a ridiculously suave tone. He held out his hand for her to shake, his eyes a mix between admiration and intrigue.

"I have to meet with a client, but I have a few minutes to spare," she replied breathlessly as she shook his hand firmly. "What can I help you with?"

Kingsley watched the Minister closely, noticing the man's posture. Did Riddle truly believe Granger was _Custos_? It was unlikely. While Granger could have the brains for their guy, she didn't have the strength. She was short and petite. And while they were looking for a lithe and small male, Granger looked as if she couldn't hold her own against the stature of their victims.

Sirius pushed his way forward, earning a warning look from Riddle.

"I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding your line of work," Riddle started off, moving them to a more secluded area in the corridor. "I've read your file. Your credentials are rather impressive. One of the youngest prosecutors to make an appearance in our Ministry in decades. And you graduated from Hogwarts with the highest score of NEWTs…"

"With the exception of you, Minister Riddle," Granger replied brightly. "I was just one point away from reaching your score. I'm afraid Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't my strongest subject. One of my classmates had to tutor me to get the score I received. If it wasn't for him, I don't think I would have had the NEWTs I needed to continue on to Law school."

"Now you're just being modest, Ms. Granger," Kingsley praised, smiling. He was familiar with Miss Granger from the endless praise he received from the late Albus Dumbledore. The old Headmaster claimed Granger was the brightest witch he had ever encountered. Kingsley would have to agree with him, if only from their first encounter.

"Who was your tutor?" Riddle questioned, seemingly asking to humor her, his tone not at all interested at the current topic.

"Harry Potter," Granger responded fondly.

At this, Riddle snapped his head around to survey Sirius deviously. "I was unaware Mr. Potter took his schooling seriously. I would have thought Quidditch occupied his thoughts and time."

Sirius' face turned deep crimson and a vein throbbed visibly at his temple. Kingsley stiffened, readying to intervene. Auror Black was extremely protective of his godson and everyone knew not to comment on Harry Potter's lack of intellect and… well… motivation. The boy was respectful and athletic, but that's all Kingsley knew about the late Potter's son. James, on the other hand, had been an upheld citizen of Britain. He had been the exact definition of what a respected pure-blood should be. He was also courageous and he worked his arse off to become one of the leading Aurors. His wife, just as well, had been an intelligent young woman. She had worked as an Unspeakable, located in America, he believed. And Granger reminded Kingsley strongly of Lily Potter.

It was a pity they died the way they had. From what Kingsley knew, Harry had never been the same after the attack. No one would be if they had to witness what the boy had.

"Actually, Sirius, Minister Riddle is right," Hermione began hesitatingly, placing a calming hand on Sirius' arm. She turned to look back at Riddle. "Harry is a _very _generous wizard. He just never put his efforts into school. He did enough to get by. I believe, if he had put his mind in his schoolwork, he would have been brilliant. But Quidditch is what he's best at." She cocked her head to the side. "Don't you believe one must excel at their natural born talents?"

"I do," Riddle returned smoothly. "I meant no disrespect; I was just taken aback to know that Mr. Potter had an intellect bone in his body."

Kingsley blinked. Before he could process the new insult to Mr. Potter, Riddle continued.

"Doubtless of your Hogwarts background, you have come a long way. You're Muggle-born, correct?"

"I am," Granger replied with her head lifted.

"It must be difficult. I understand that there may be discriminatory behavior toward you. Not only because pure-bloods mainly take positions as prosecutors, but because you are a young woman." Riddle cocked his head to the side, offering the young lawyer an understanding look. "You offer your services to lower salary clients, yes?"

Granger nodded tensely. "With all due respect, Minister, I am unsure where you're trying to go…"

"Your success rate is rather low," Riddle continued without much care. "Does it bother you that the outcomes of your cases may be predetermined before you even have a chance to prove yourself in court? It must grate on your nerves to see a murderer or a rapist walk away because of your age and blood and not as a result of your abilities."

Kingsley leaned back on his heels, exhaling past the thick tension. While he agreed Riddle's methods were harsh, they were also effective. He could see Granger become flustered and disconcerted. It did bring more light to the situation. Riddle was a right bastard, but he was on the right track. There was no way in hell it would be just a coincidence that Granger was the prosecutor that linked most of their victims together.

However, just because Kingsley saw Riddle's methods as effective didn't mean Black did. The Auror took a step forward, reaching for Riddle's arm in an aggressive manner. "I think that's enough—"

Swiftly, Riddle caught Sirius wrist in midair, moving too quickly for a man in his seventies. "_Silence,_" Riddle hissed darkly.

Kingsley stared, surprised. In all ways, Riddle resembled an irritated predator. The Minister's position was strong and dominant as it angled defensively toward Black. The man's shoulders were set and his hand kept a solid hold on Black's hand as he angled it down and away from him.

"Sirius," Kingsley motioned for Black to come closer. Riddle cast Kingsley a disgusted gaze before releasing Black. "Let him finish—"

"Hermione is innocent," Sirius whispered heatedly to Kingsley. "And she doesn't need to be treated as if she's _scum_."

"I will talk to him when he's finished," Kingsley pacified before turning back to Riddle. He was thankful for the man for finding a connection, but he also had to forewarn Riddle that there _were _boundaries, even for his position as a Minister.

"I think anyone in my position would be frustrated, Minister Riddle," Granger tautly answered the Minister's earlier question. "I still don't understand where you're going with this."

"One more thing, Ms. Granger," Riddle continued. "It is human nature to vent one's frustrations to another. Surely you have confided in someone about your cases, correct? A boyfriend, perhaps? Parents?"

_Ah_… _Custos _was believed to have a Muggle connection based on his or her skill of physical combat. Either that or the serial killer was related to the authority sector. Kingsley was refusing to believe one of his men had a hand in this case. So they were left with _Custos _being related to Muggles. Granger was a Muggle-born witch, perhaps one of her contacts would lead them closer to their man.

"Yes," Granger huffed. "I do."

Riddle leaned forward. "Their names."

Granger looked at Sirius before surveying Riddle. "Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. At times I talk to Ginny Weasley about it as well… and Sirius Black…" she trailed off as all eyes turned in the direction of Auror Black.

Riddle turned back to Granger, bowing sharply at the waist. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Granger. I apologize if I came across as too harsh. I am merely investigating an active case. Your cooperation was most helpful. I will see you again."

As Riddle turned to leave, Kingsley followed; aware the man hadn't disclosed exactly _what _case he was working on. This investigating method was new to Kingsley, and frankly, it was new to the whole Department. Crimes like this were rare. When someone was murdered, it was quickly tracked with magic or common knowledge. Most hate crimes in the Wizarding world were committed out of personal vendetta. There were no _random _acts like _Custos—_no serial killers_. _It just didn't happen.

"Minister Riddle," Kingsley began, hurrying alongside the man.

Riddle turned suddenly, taking an advancing step forward. "No word of complaint from you, Auror Shacklebolt. I have half the mind to take you and your team off this case due to conflict of interest." His eyes rose and took in a lingering Black. "Some of _us _are too close to the suspects and the case. Not only that, but there is a strong possibility that _Custos _is connected to the Aurors."

"You…" Kingsley began with a loss for words. "You can't do that."

"But I can," Riddle continued, grinning ear for ear and showing his true colors. "I can easily assign this case to foreigners who are not so closely involved." He stopped within inches of Kingsley, his height almost dwarfing the naturally tall man. "From here on out, _I _am in charge of this case. Understood?"

All Kingsley could see was a fierce ascendancy in the man's eyes. Kingsley had to remind himself that Riddle _was _the Minister and he held the Ministry and everyone in it with an iron fist. Kingsley could do nothing but bow his head in submission.

"Yes, Minister, I understand."

"Good," the Minister praised, his face morphing into elderly kindness. "Because I look forward to working with you, Kingsley."

As the man continued down the corridor, Kingsley and Sirius looked at one another before watching the man walk the hallways with a regal grace.

**{Dreams}**

Harry snapped his head up as soon as he felt the turmoil of emotions approach his office. The leading emotions were exasperation, offense, and a general consensus of resentment. His sharp hearing was able to identify the group as Sirius and two other wizards. Though, Sirius' emotions were different from this morning when Harry had first seen the group of Aurors. Earlier, they had been somberly determined. He pondered what had changed their mood so significantly.

"Mr. Potter." A sharp rap sounded outside of his open door.

Harry offered the wall he was facing an exasperated frown before he carefully set his expression to one of relaxed contentment. He placed his palms against his desk and pushed himself away from the piece of furniture. The wheels on his office chair swiveled around abruptly and faced the trio at his door. Somehow, he was unsurprised to see Riddle, Kingsley, and Sirius standing outside the open door. It wasn't a surprise, but it _certainly _wasn't welcome. Judging from Sirius' uncomfortable vibes thrumming across the room, Harry gathered they were here to question him.

Which meant they were on the right path hunting _Custos. _

But how?

Clearly they didn't have any idea that Harry was _Custos. _Otherwise, they would be approaching him with far more force. This was a simple and informal interrogation. Harry just had to find out how they got on their current track before diverting them in the opposite direction.

"'ello," Harry murmured, pushing up his glasses with his index finger. "Please, come in."

His office was informal, just as the whole Department was. Quidditch posters hung on his walls and miniature models of Quidditch fields lined his desk and filing cabinets. A small golden snitch buzzed around his office, spelled to remain within his territory and not venture outside the room.

Ron got a kick out of his office, but Harry thought it was rather juvenile. Perhaps, his old self would have liked the décor just as much as Ron did, which is why Harry decorated the way his old self would have liked it. It was better to give his friends a false sense of security, thinking everything was back to normal.

But nothing would ever be back to normal.

"I would offer you a chair, gentlemen," he began, intentionally sounding flustered and awkward as he motioned toward the two beanbags that were shaped to look like Quaffles. "But I suppose you wouldn't enjoy the seating arrangements…"

Sirius plopped down on the beanbag and sulked. Harry sensed the obvious animosity directed toward Riddle from _both _Kingsley and Sirius. The perfectly adapt politician was actually causing a rift between himself and the Law Enforcement Department? Interesting. And curious.

His green eyes shot slyly toward the Minister, watching the man as he inspected the photographs of Harry and Ron from their days on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and also the photographs of him and his usual 'crowd'. The usual crowd always involved Hermione, Ginny, and Ron—on occasion—Sirius. It was all a front. Let the man search for clues. Nothing in this office reflected Harry's true inner reflection. The pictures, the Quidditch mania… everything was placed strategically just to make him non-conspicuous.

It was always about blending in.

"I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Potter," Kingsley began after shooting a bemused glance at a quiet Riddle.

Harry could feel the man's perplexity at Riddle's continued silence. The Minister kept his hands clasped behind his back as he continued to assess Harry's office with a bored air. "No problem at all," Harry replied friendly. "I'm not exactly busy at the moment."

Kingsley smiled and bowed his neck in a gesture of gratitude. "I only have a few questions for you, Mr. Potter," the black man continued. "It's regarding your friend, Ms. Granger." After a small nod from Harry, Kingsley continued. "Does she ever speak to you about the clients she represents? Or the cases that she performs?"

_Ah_. This was all too amusing!

Harry's upper lip twitched and twitched again. He pressed his mouth together and clenched his twitching fingers. _Now _wasn't a time for a breakdown _either_. Harry smiled grimly and rolled his head up to the ceiling. "Ah, of course," he admitted in humor. He controlled his racing pulse and kept from laughing, although, he did let out a chuckle. "She talks to me all the time about that _stuff_."

Riddle snapped his head around and stared blatantly at Harry.

Kingsley was the one to question him further. "Could you expand, Mr. Potter?" Behind the Head Auror, Sirius sat, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.

Harry offered his godfather a tight smile. "Well," he hesitated, making a show of shifting around and crossing his legs. "I love Hermione, I really do. And I do support her in everything she does. But sometimes…" he grimaced. "Sometimes I just nod and appease her. I can't make ends meet when she begins her tirade." Harry clasped his hands over his knees and leaned forward, noticing Riddle had turned back to observe the posters. "At any rate, I don't make much sense of the whole legal system. I was never a fan of learning the terminology."

He shared a knowing look with Sirius. They both knew how much Harry hated the legal system.

Harry pressed his back in his chair, pondering the situation. The Auror Investigators finally found the connection between his victims and the prosecutor acting against them. Yes it was true. Harry had started targeting his victims based on Hermione's cases.

It was common knowledge that the pure-bloods ran the legal system in the Wizarding World. Them and _politics_. Despite Britain being open to equality, Muggle-borns were still discriminated against.

When Hermione was bringing a case against a powerful politician or a pure-blood, it was already decided that she would lose. Harry, seeing the opportunity for real justice, had begun to strike the party standing opposite of Hermione.

Admittedly, it had been a foolish mistake. Though, not only did Harry have the intelligence to manipulate the attention away from him, but his last two victims had absolutely no tie with Hermione. In fact, if they looked more closely, they would find another Muggle-born attorney had been prepared to represent the opposition to Harry's victims. It wouldn't create suspicion on the investigators end if Harry's victims continued to depart from Hermione's cases.

The best thing to do in this situation was to act his part. While Sirius and Ron felt a strong sense of pity for Hermione's misfortune, they tended to complain about her long-winded legal terms and lectures. Harry would simply act like them, despite the fact that he always hung on to her every last word.

Suddenly, he sat up, startling Kingsley and Riddle. "I…" Harry frowned. "She doesn't disclose the privacy of her clients, or anything confidential about that type of stuff. She's not in trouble, is she? Honestly, Hermione would never break the rules and that includes the privacy of her—"

As predicted, Kingsley held up a hand. Amusement bubbled from the man and Harry thought it was a breath of fresh air. It was tiring experiencing—_tasting— _those dark and grimy emotions all the time. Now a days, it was increasingly hard to surround himself with pure souls that omitted equally pure emotions.

"Mr. Potter," Kingsley chuckled. "That is not why we're here. Ms. Granger is in no trouble, I reassure you." The Head Auror cleared his throat. "Getting back to the subject at hand—"

"I find this pointless, Auror Shacklebolt," Riddle finally spoke up, drawling. The man strutted into the middle of the office, taking another critical look around him. "He doesn't have what we're looking for, much like his godfather. He is in no position to accomplish such a feat." Riddle then picked up a picture frame and studied it for a period of time before placing it back down.

Harry stared at the crooked picture frame. His upper lip twitched when he noticed it wasn't put down in the exact spot he had it before. Everything he owned was placed meticulously. There was never anything out of place, ever. To an untrained eye, Harry's office would appear messy and disorderly. But that had been Harry's intention. To one who was accomplished at seeing things, they would notice every single piece of paper was placed in organized chaos.

Schooling his features, Harry was taken aback when he noticed Riddle watching his reaction through the frame's reflection. The man's dark eyes were trained on Harry's face as he intentionally placed the framed photo in the wrong position.

Harry sniffed, pushing his glasses further upon his nose and turning back to Kingsley. Everything needed to be in order, but his obsessive compulsion disorder wasn't severe. He wouldn't throw a fit for Riddle's amusement.

"Right then," Kingsley bowed once again. "If we're finished here, then enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Potter."

Sirius scrambled up from his position on the beanbag and mouthed 'lunch' to Harry before following his boss out the door. Riddle smiled thinly at Harry before nodding in farewell.

The Potter heir watched them go, frowning. It was clear that Riddle had taken complete control over the whole investigation, judging from Kingsley's and Sirius' submission to the man. Typical. Throw in an alpha male with meager dominant men and the alpha comes out on top, all the while, gaining the strength of the others. Kingsley was a strong and commanding man on his own. It was a surprise at how quickly he tucked his tail between his legs and followed Riddle with his neck bowed. Though, Riddle did have that effect on those he interacted with.

If Harry didn't have to keep up appearances, he would be happy to put Riddle in his place. He was just _itching _to knock Riddle on his arse.

He was also itching to straighten that picture frame.

Green eyes stared at the crooked frame, feeling his body twitch in that direction. No. Not yet. He would have to wait a few more hours until he gave in to that temptation. He didn't know if Riddle would be back at his office to see if Harry had an obsessive disorder. Because even Harry knew that obsessive compulsion disorders were common among serial killers. He had a few traits that could be considered a link to obsessive compulsion, but he was also on medication and it also wasn't severe.

Speaking of which…

He turned suddenly, taken aback when he saw Riddle leaning elegantly against the side of his door. The Minister was staring calmly at the picture frame he had picked up earlier before turning to look at Harry. A cold smile crossed the man's features and Harry felt the urge to match it with one of his own.

_You have no proof. Of _anything. He mentally challenged Riddle in his mind. He didn't know if the Minister actually had his suspicions that Harry was _Custos _or if he was just eager to make Harry feel like a fool. No matter what the man's motives were, Harry wouldn't underestimate the Minister.

"Yes, Minister?" Harry pressed softly. "Was there something else you wanted?"

Riddle smiled, running a careful hand through his hair in order to keep it parted to the side. He ran a cool eye over Harry's relaxed and aloof form. "Coffee," the man announced silkily. "With you."

The tips of Harry's ears turned an intense red. Honestly, he didn't know if it was out of embarrassment or anger at the sheer _audacity _of the arrogant wizard. The way the man demanded it was so accomplished, so smooth. Harry wondered if he stood in front of the mirror each morning and practiced pitching his voice lower and skilling his expressions.

"I'm flattered," Harry drawled. "But you're not my type, Minister."

For a moment, the true Riddle and the true Harry assessed one another before each wizard snapped back their guises.

Riddle chuckled merrily, losing his intensity. He patted a hand over his chest, winking at Harry. "Dear boy, don't give an old man a heart attack. I was merely offering to get you that coffee I made you spill earlier this morning. For lunch, perhaps?"

"Oh, you didn't _make _me spill it, you accidently bumped into me. I won't hold you accountable to your own clumsiness, Minister." Harry flashed the man a bright smile, subtly insulting the man. Judging from the tension around the man's smile, Riddle was smart enough to catch the sugar-coated insult. Good. The man wasn't the only one who had the ability to make others squirm.

Harry relaxed in his chair. His posture screamed arrogance and dominance. With his legs spread sturdily on the ground, he leaned back and placed his arms behind his head. Even if Riddle was the one standing, Harry was the one who held the power in the room. Riddle was left standing uselessly by the door, relying on Harry to either dismiss him or keep the conversation going.

"Besides," Harry continued airily, intending for the man's torture to continue. "I'm not a coffee drinker. That coffee was for Sirius."

Riddle surprised him by taking an advancing step forward. The man stopped inches from Harry's knees and stared down his nose at his sitting form. Harry kept his body motionless, suddenly feeling… belittled.

"Tea, then. I am a man of my word, Mr. Potter. It was your money lost this morning and I will be happy to repay you."

"I don't drink tea either, Minister." Harry replied sweetly. Of course he drank tea, _everyone _drank tea. But he wanted to see the man _squirm_.

Riddle lost his smile and grinned forcibly down at Harry. "Water. Everyone drinks water, Mr. Potter."

"Indeed. Though, technically, water is free. So you wouldn't be paying me back for the coffee I spilt," Harry replied quickly before sitting up abruptly at the dangerous gleam in the man's eye. "I'm only joking, sir," Harry chuckled easily and turned his shoulder on the Minister. "Thank you, though, for the invitation. But I'm meeting Sirius for lunch today. Perhaps another time?"

Refusing to be dismissed and ignored so easily, Riddle pressed his back into Harry's desk and tapped his fingers on the parchments in front of the younger wizard. "I… get the premonition that you harbor ill feelings toward me, Mr. Potter."

Harry grunted. He always held ill feelings toward politicians, especially arrogant ones who dismissed people as if they were beneath them. But now he had Riddle's attention; either because the man wanted to get closer to Hermione or because Riddle was suspicious of _him_. Harry realized that his little exchange with Riddle was only raising the man's suspicions. He was a fool for giving in to his instincts and challenging the man so quickly.

Though, there was a small part of Harry that wanted the man to know what he was. It would make everything a bit more exciting, especially when the man would never be able to prove Harry's guilt.

No!

This wasn't a game! Fool he was for thinking that. This was about innocents who were wronged and could never get their justice. This was about destroying those whose soul was so dirty, he could hardly stand upright in the face of. People like that didn't deserve to be living. They didn't.

Harry's shoulders slumped and he lost his playfulness. It was not a good idea to play with Riddle. "I apologize for coming across that way, Mr. Riddle." He swiveled his chair to face the man. "I just find it suspicious that you want to talk to me further. Whatever you have against Hermione, I won't assist you with. She's a good friend and I'm rather protective of them when it comes to their wellbeing."

There. He made an excuse for his earlier behavior. Outwardly, he was just a good friend, protecting Hermione. He felt 'threatened' by Riddle and, in turn, he had become defensive on her behalf. Hopefully Riddle would accept his excuse. Judging from the man's creasing eyebrows, Harry believed he had succeeded, if only a little.

"It's understandable, Mr. Potter." Riddle smiled and pushed off from the desk. "Let me know when your schedule frees up. I'd still like to buy you tea." The man motioned toward the tea and the cup in the far corner of Harry's desk.

Harry chuckled, giving the man a cool wave. "Certainly, sir. Have a good day."

Riddle grinned and left the office.

Green eyes narrowed at the far wall.

**{& Darkness}**

Sirius wasn't at their usual spot when lunchtime rolled around. Harry had been waiting for over ten minutes and his godfather had yet to show. It was a waste of his time sitting here… especially when the company around him wasn't particularly inviting.

Opting to go back to his work rather than wait any longer, Harry stood but paused as a lavender paper plane flew toward him. With a resigned sigh, Harry snatched it from the air and opened the piece of paper.

_Harry, _

_Got held back at the office. Sorry for the late notice—we'll meet tomorrow for lunch. _

_Sirius _

Trying his best to muffle his frustration, Harry curled the piece of paper in his fist. He had wanted to talk to his godfather about the _Custos _case and Hermione's informal interrogation. The Auror Department couldn't have gotten any new leads, so why was Sirius being held back for lunch?

As he glanced up from the crumpled note, he came face to face with Tom Riddle. The smugness the man exuded was answer enough as to why Sirius was staying back. _Oh… _the man was _good_!

"Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Potter," Riddle began cheerily, innocently. The Minister placed his lunch on the table between them, seemingly oblivious to the prying spectators around him. "I was hoping…" the man trailed off, sipping once at his tea, "that I would run into you doubtless of your lunch date with your godfather. Imagine my surprise to see you sitting by your lonesome." He flashed a wide smile that was usually reserved for his political minions. "Here, I got your tea. I know you fancy black."

Harry bowed his head, staring at the cup of tea as it was pushed toward him. No matter what Riddle knew or what he didn't know, Harry knew he had to interact with the Minister carefully. He couldn't underestimate the man and he couldn't _play _word or mind games. Honestly, it had been fun interacting with a man like Riddle earlier in his office, but Harry had to remind himself that he and Riddle were on other sides of the law.

He had Riddle's interest now. The best thing to do was put distance between each other and turn the man's interest away.

"Actually, I was just going—"

"Sit."

Harry grimaced as he submissively followed the order and clumsily sat. Tugging the cup of tea closer, Harry wondered if he would lose his temper before Riddle lost his interest. Following the man's orders would bring Harry's resolve at the edge.

He adjusted his thick-framed glasses, embracing his 'Harry Potter' role. Divert Riddle's attention and bore the man senseless. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, beginning his ruse and slumping his upper body toward the table in misery. "For earlier."

Riddle paused in spreading his dressing over his baked potato and gazed at Harry from over his glasses. "For what?" he inquired.

Harry's lips twitched uncontrollably and he had to bring his tea cup up to hide the tremors. It would seem that his tics grew far more uncontrollable the more time he spent in Riddle's presence. "I was a right bastard to you," he admitted weakly, inwardly, cringing in horror at his meek tone. "You just have to understand that I take the protection of my friends very seriously."

"Yes," Riddle acknowledged, pausing before looking back down at his baked potato. "You mentioned that in your office already, Mr. Potter."

"Harry," he corrected with an air of sickly good nature. This time Riddle's knuckles turned white from his strong grip on his fork. He did a decent job of veiling his expression, but Harry knew he was confusing the hell out of the man. Riddle wanted to see Harry as a threat, but Harry was giving the man doubts.

"I beg your pardon?" Riddle murmured in question.

"H-Harry, it's my name," he responded, ducking his head and tearing a large bite from his sandwich. "Everyone calls me Harry," he explained, a large chunk of food in his mouth. "If you wanted to talk more about 'Mione, you might as well address me by my first name." He kept his eyes downcast, grinning into his sandwich. "But…" he chewed his food, frowning at the table in mock concentration. "I don't know how much more you want me to tell you. Hermione's line of work isn't exactly easy to follow with a—"

"You have remarkable table etiquette, Mr. Potter," Riddle cut him off silkily. "It's truly… riveting to watch."

Harry took a large sip from his tea to wash down the food in his mouth. He cast a bashful glance in Riddle's direction. Acting this way was so second-nature to Harry that it wasn't difficult to make it seem natural. After all, his weekends were _his, _where he could be his true self. But every other day of the week was his time to adapt the role of his old-Harry. Though, he had to remember not to go overboard least Riddle would be suspicious.

"Sorry, sir," Harry apologized.

"Indeed." Riddle gazed at him, his eyes cruelly suspicious.

Harry paid it no heed as he gazed down at his lunch. It was odd, not being able to sense Riddle like everyone else Harry encountered. The man was an empty void, discerning Harry yet setting him at ease. Sometimes, the emotions of others grew almost impossible at times. With Riddle, Harry felt like he was doused with a calm silence, giving his weary senses a much needed rest.

Still, he was conscious of the man's suspicions. Harry wasn't surprised. Riddle, so determined to have Harry as his suspect, would take anything that proved otherwise as deceit or trickery. The Minister would believe this was a rouse. And while it was, Harry was determined to make Riddle think this was the real him. His friends would vouch for him, Sirius would vouch for him, and even his old classmates would remember Harry as being a bit awkward and carefree.

"At any rate," Riddle announced, dropping his fork. "I didn't want to meet with you to discuss Miss Granger."

"Oh?" Harry inquired; eyes flickering up to give Riddle respected eye contact.

"No." He shook his head. "I came here to talk about you."

Harry didn't miss a beat. "Sure," he grinned in response. "But you won't find me particularly interesting."

Brown eyes surveyed Harry and a smirk lifted the man's aristocratic mouth. "On the contrary," he purred, "I find you very interesting."

It was impossible. Harry paused in clutching his sandwich, his tense fingers indenting the bread. He had interacted with Riddle a total of five minutes before their lunch date, if that. There was no way a man, even a mastermind, could possibly see through Harry. Granted, he had slipped only a few seconds at his office, but he had given a reasonable excuse that he had felt protective over Hermione. Anyone would understand that pretext.

So if Riddle was so smart, so clever, that he could see through Harry, then what kind of man did that make Riddle?

Green eyes assessed Riddle, finally on edge and finally realizing Riddle was not a normal politician. Yes the man knew how to work people, he knew how to pull strings, but there _was _something more to this man. And whatever it was, Harry knew it had to be dangerous.

If he could somehow feel, somehow taste Riddle and his emotions, would he encounter another prey? Instead of petty political manipulations and political deceptions, would Harry find proof of something much worse?

He only had eightvictims so far, nine targets. But he was confident in his abilities of being a successful hunter and savior. Harry wondered if he would be up to the task of hunting someone as high-risk as a Minister. It would be a challenge, but if there was incriminating evidence that Riddle was hiding something far more dangerous beneath that soppy guise, he was up for the task.

Amusing. They were both hunting each other, both scoping out the other's invisible limits and boundaries.

Could Harry manifest a front for Riddle while hunting the man at the same time?

The answer came to him quickly, reminding him of the importance of logical thinking and the reason _Custos _existed. _No_. There were other innocents out there who needed help. Though tempting, Minister Riddle would need to remain untouched.

"Ask away," Harry invited, placing his sandwich down.

"Sirius Black indicated you were quite good at Quidditch but quit because of an injury." Riddle discarded his meal in favor of leaning closer to Harry. "I've noticed you shuffle and take uneven steps as if your leg bothered you, you are quite ungraceful for a star athlete. I assumed you injured your leg, but you don't need to use your legs to fly, Mr. Potter."

Harry raised an eyebrow from behind his glasses. "Are you saying I'm intentionally faking it, Minister?" He offered a grin for good measure. "Good guess on the leg injury, but it was my spine that took the beating. I find it hard to sit for very long, especially on a broom. The discomfort travels to my step, I suppose."

_I dare you to try to understand the real reason I stopped playing Quidditch. _

Brown eyes dilated and Riddle placed a curled fist underneath his chin. "Of course I'm not suggesting that you're faking it, Mr. Potter. I'm merely curious. After all, what reason would someone have for parading around as someone they're not?"

Harry pressed his lips together. The chatter across the cafeteria seemed to drown completely from his senses as he focused on the wizard across from him. Riddle's question was meant to probe Harry, a gentle and almost inconspicuous jab. Instead, it only caused Harry a deep and true sadness. "A very good question, Minister. Faking an injury aside, there are countless of men and women who parade around as if they're someone they're not."

His eyes drifted off to the side, to the table directly to his right. During his time waiting for Sirius to arrive, he had already pinpointed a couple that had an invisible wedge between them. A man and a woman sat together, the bands on their left fingers an indication that they were married. But every time she smiled at him or laid a loving hand on his arm, his whole being _stank _of guilt. He was most likely cheating on her, yet he continued his charade, too afraid of losing the women he so foolishly and continuously strung along.

Everyone had their own guise; he could feel the contradictory feelings to prove it. The ability to experience emotions was born into Harry since his birth, but his ability had only intensified since the incident. Instead of being consumed completely with emotions of others, he had learned how to turn the intensity down. Now he only received an occasional rush and a taste in his mouth that he had learned to distinguish between different emotions.

Not to mention he was able to manipulate emotions just as well. It was a treasured gift. He especially enjoyed making his victims feel what their own victims had felt at their hands. Such sweet and poetic justice.

Harry turned his eyes back on Riddle and placed a hand against side his cheek in a lazy manner. "You should know better than anyone, sir. You're a politician, aren't you? You're surrounded by men and women who put on a guise—yourself included."

Riddle blinked and offered a coy smile. "Forgive me, it was a silly question. You are most certainly correct in your assumptions, especially about politicians, I'm afraid." He chuckled lowly but sobered immediately after. "Such insight, Mr. Potter."

It was Harry's turn to offer the wizard a coy grin. He shrugged, spreading his hands in a guilty manner. "My friends claim I'm candid and open. I'm never one for politics, no offense sir."

The Minister chuckled once again and he bowed his head. Shadows seemed to cross along his face, bathing him in an ominous light. "Getting back to the subject at hand," Riddle whispered lowly, his expression completely blank and unreadable. It was certainly different from his Minister persona. "Your decision to stop playing Quidditch was due to an injury. How long did you play before you sustained an injury?"

"A few months, unfortunately," Harry replied, shrugging. He pondered at the man's direction and received his answer just as a sick and cold weight dropped in his stomach.

"Your godfather claimed you played right out of Hogwarts, so I imagine were around eighteen when you withdrew from the team," Riddle mused out loud, picking up his fork and stabbing it into his vegetables with renowned victory. "Two years ago." He repeated. "If I remember correctly, James and Lily Potter died two years ago." He spoke as if he were mentioning the snowstorm they received just nights ago. From the corner of his eye, he peaked at Harry like that of a smug serpent.

Harry applauded himself for keeping a blasé expression. Inside, he was wailing at the top of his lungs in both anger and misery. "Yeah," he replied with the perfect balance of remorse and regret. "I guess you could say they were one of the reasons why I quit." _So you guessed, I suppose, in a way. But certainly not the extent of it. _He would have to give Riddle props, however much of a bastard-move it was. "After their deaths, I wasn't focusing much on the game. I sustained my injury at that time. It was treatable, of course, but I chose to use it as an excuse not to play."

Underneath the table, his fingers twitched uncontrollably and patted his thigh in an erratic pattern. Glancing down in perfect melancholy, he spied Riddle's deflating smirk and the stiffening shoulders. He had the man fooled, he knew. After all, Riddle was also a player in the game of charades. Knowing how arrogant Riddle was, Harry assumed the man would refuse to believe someone could be better at guises than himself.

Harry could send waves of conviction toward the man, but he wouldn't chance it. If he couldn't sense Riddle, he had no reassurance that the man would be affected by Harry's emotional manipulation or if he would somehow detect it happening.

"I could never really part with Quidditch, no matter how much it reminded me of my father. So, I choose to apply for a position at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Sometimes—"

"Miss Granger mentioned you were skilled at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Riddle interrupted. He was grasping at straws, drawing on anything that would give Harry credibility to be _Custos_. "Why didn't you join the Auror Department? Like your father?"

It was difficult to keep from snickering. He had the man puzzled, exactly where he wanted him. How satisfying it was… to draw Riddle by the string and encircle him with doubt. It was obvious that the Aurors believed _Custos _to have a position of power, to be arrogant and god-like. While Harry supposed a few traits did apply to him, he also knew that it was _expected. _He wasn't stupid enough to walk the halls of the Ministry, flaunting the personality that fit the profile of their serial killer.

It helped matters that he had always been like this, this carefree and good-natured person. After his parents' murder, he had altered for the worse; he had woken up to the true evils of the world and had lost his naivety. But for the sake of his friends and godfather, Harry had continued trying to reassure them that things had not changed, that he was slowly getting over what had happened.

He supposed, in a way, he truly did love his friends and family. Otherwise, he wouldn't have thought to keep up a charade. He didn't want to hurt them; he didn't want to lose them.

"My injury, of course," Harry replied slowly. "I wouldn't make a good field Auror with my gait."

"You said it was treatable," Riddle insisted heatedly, leaning forward and finally showing his teeth.

"Oh, it _was _treatable," Harry reassured calmly, the polar opposite of Riddle's current mood. "But I didn't get it healed in time. It affected the alignment of my spine permanently. I'm sure they could do intensive surgery with just as exhaustive therapy, but I don't have time for that."

No one needed to know he had his injury treated a few months ago. The pain afterward had been excruciating, but he had pushed past it and continued to give the impression he still had a slight limp. A serial killer who relied on physical force wouldn't have a spinal injury. If Riddle wanted to, he could look up Harry's medical file and see no record that his injury had been treated. That was the beauty of doctors who didn't have a license. They would perform surgery with shady circumstances— all for a large sum of gold.

However, if Riddle did decide to look up Harry's medical file, he _would _see a list of other extensive injuries that Quidditch hadn't caused. Weeks earlier had been the incident with his parents. After a respectable mourning period, Sirius tried to convince Harry to fly again—as a source of remedy. Harry had been on the broom a total of five minutes before falling to the depths below.

Riddle suddenly stood up, his face pinched and his knuckles curled. Doubtless, the Minister wore a smile and it somehow chilled Harry senseless. "Thank you for humoring me with a lunch date, Mr. Potter. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day."

He didn't even wait for Harry to give a response. With a dramatic turn of his heel, the Minister left the cafeteria, nodding friendly toward those who waved in greeting.

Harry slumped against the table, looking down and smiling thinly. Riddle's arrogance was his downfall. No one could outsmart Riddle, no one was better than Riddle, no one could manipulate him.

But Harry could.

He couldn't fool himself, though. He had to remain extra cautious now that the spotlight had fallen on him, at least for a time. Riddle may still be determined to prove his assumptions correct and identify Harry as _Custos_. If that were the case, Harry would have to remain guiltless. But he refused to stop in his hunt.

He also needed to find someone that would attract Riddle's suspicions. Surely there were better wizards out there that didn't have spinal injuries and assumed a position of power, preferably a lawyer with connections to Hermione, and also someone who was ridiculously suave and arrogant. Someone who could be _Custos _in the eye of the Aurors.

And he knew just the wizard Riddle could play with next.

Cormac McLaggen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"_McLaggen_?"

Harry paused in midsentence, intentionally allowing the redhead across from him to stew at the mention of Cormac. They were currently at Harry's flat, sitting at the breakfast nook that currently served as their makeshift bar. It wasn't rare to see Ron over at his house, but it was rare to see _just _Ron. Hermione was busy working on a new case and Ginny had opted to give her brother and Harry 'guy-time', as she liked to call it.

It hadn't been planned, this night with Ron. After all, it was Thursday and the redhead hardly made a habit of drinking his weight in booze the night before a workday. Ron had called in ill today and decided to stop by Harry's flat that night. Considering the excessive talking and the excessive drinking, Harry assumed Ron was feeling better. He wondered if the boy would call in _sick _again tomorrow, only this time, he would actually have a valid reason to stay in bed.

Harry had been hesitant to let Ron in his home that night. While he cared for the redhead deeply, he wasn't particularly fond of sharing his evenings every night of the week. The guise he paraded around with during the day tended to weigh more heavily on him toward the evening. He usually reserved Friday nights and Saturday's for any potential gatherings. The rest of the time, he was free to dwell in his own pathetic company.

Nonetheless, Ron's absence at the Ministry today had been the deciding factor for Harry. How could he deny Ron's self-invitation when he could plant seeds in both Ron's and Riddle's heads?

Because Ron wasn't at the Ministry today, Riddle hadn't been able to interview him. Or interrogate him, whichever way one looked at it. There was a high possibility that Riddle would approach Ron tomorrow. Until that time, Harry would indirectly prep Ron for the interrogation, orchestrating what the redhead would deliver to Riddle.

Unfortunately, there was the chance that Ron was so far gone in his alcohol that he wouldn't remember what Harry was feeding him. Though, even if Ron somehow drowned a whole bottle of firewhiskey, he would still remember a conversation about Cormac McLaggen and Hermione Granger.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, she couldn't meet for lunch because she had a meeting with McLaggen. Anyway—"

"That _slug_," Ron growled in interruption once again. His long hair fell in his sour face as he scowled at the space above Harry's head. "She has lunch with him? Bloody hell, how can she keep an appetite while looking at that bloke? He's a slimy git, that's what."

Harry tapped his fingers on his tumbler of firewhiskey, allowing the wizard across from him to continue his moaning. Hermione would be furious if she knew Harry had divulged that bit of information to Ron. Even if Ron did confront Hermione about it, Harry always had the cover of having too much to drink and a loose tongue. Ron was too cloudy to realize Harry hadn't even touched his whiskey.

"As I was saying," Harry started again, reassured that Ron would remember the mention of McLaggen by tomorrow morning. "Riddle began interrogating me during lunch, asking me about Hermione's line of work."

Ron snorted, shaking his head. "Like you really understand any of that stuff…"

"Exactly," Harry agreed, offering the boy a grin full of teeth. "It completely slipped my mind to mention McLaggen. I mean, McLaggen is always hovering around Hermione. Obviously if she talked to anyone about her case work, he would be the one to understand most of it."

The redhead nodded, silent for a moment as he comprehended what he was hearing. "What do you think they're investigating? Do you reckon it's about _Custos? _No matter what it is, I know that big git had something to do with it. Those two are always together; I just don't know why they aren't a couple…" Ron trailed off pitifully.

Harry pressed his lips together to keep from scowling. Ron had fancied Hermione since Fifth Year. And Hermione had begun to fancy Ron since… well, he really couldn't say for certain. Harry noticed when their emotions began to change for each other; the two didn't even have to confide in him. Neither of the two had mustered up the courage to confess their true feelings. It was horribly pathetic, and that's why Harry didn't bother getting in the middle of it.

Perhaps one of these days he could end his suffering by manipulating Ron's emotions and giving him enough courage to approach Hermione. It would certainly give him more time for himself.

"I don't want to go to work tomorrow," Ron complained suddenly, tipping back his glass and drowning the rest of his whiskey in one go. "I don't know why you won't join the Aurors with me, Harry. Training is a pain in the arse. It would be nice to have my mate there with me."

"Continue to skip and you'll be done with training sooner than you think," Harry responded dryly. Now wasn't the time to reassure Ron or try to give him any advice. He knew the redhead had no real interest of being an Auror. He could _feel _true dread coming from Ron about the prospect of going back to work. The boy was doing what he thought was expected of him, something that would set him apart from his brothers.

_Life is far too short, Ron, to live up to not only your own expectations, but others' expectations as well. _

It was times like these that Harry realized how far lost he was from normalcy. What he wouldn't give to sit back, relax, and complain about work. Instead, he felt guilty sitting here with a tumbler of untouched whiskey when there were people out _there _that needed help, his help. They could be crying and no one would feel their desperation.

Harry tapped his fingers in disarray across the table, subconsciously drawing Ron's attention.

"How did your counseling go?" Suddenly, it was if Ron hadn't consumed a drop of liquor. His face turned solemn and serious as he peered at Harry blearily. "It was today, wasn't it? Aren't you down to twice a month?"

"You're not the only one who is allowed to skip, Ron," Harry snapped, standing. A dark emotion warmed his belly, the same sensation one would get after a few sips of whiskey.

His trembling fingers intentionally knocked over his tumbler of firewhiskey, hating the amber liquid more than ever for not being able to pacify him, for not being able to give him a moment's peace. He knew, once he began to drink, he would have no control, and when he had no control the memories would come back with startling clarity.

"_Oh god! Harry! Please! Please no! Not my baby!" _

Harry pressed his eyes closed, his throat contracting in attempt to stop the miserable whine that swelled in his chest. His mother's hoarse and shrill cry resonated across his mind and into his ears. It was if she were standing there again, begging for a moment of relief and mercy. Her emotions had choked him and rendered him insane with anguish those few days of torture. Lily's and James' emotions seemed to haunt him more than their spirits, bringing him back to those days more effectively than a simple memory.

Turning away from the table, Harry shakily stood by the sink and turned on the facet. Ron knew to remain silent, allowing Harry a moment to gather himself.

Harry did nothing to break the silence, hating himself for allowing the past memories to control him and his actions. He was better than this. It had been two years and yet, he was still too sensitive about what had happened. He was already fucked up, why must the memories continue haunting him with such precision?

"I'm sorry," Ron stuttered quietly. "I shouldn't have asked."

Harry stared out the window as he held his whiskey-stained hands underneath the scalding water. The reflection that stared back at him was gaunt and grey, reflecting the true inner state of his broken soul.

Contorting his expression into one of sheepish guilt, he glanced back at Ron. "No, it's alright, Ron. I feel a bit silly for skipping the counseling session. I've been doing better, too." He sent the redhead a sloppy and half-attempt at a grin. "I guess it's just harder some days."

Ron shrugged, patting his fingers on top of his glass in attempt to ease his unease. "You don't have to convince me, Harry. If you don't want to go, you shouldn't have to."

Right, that was Sirius and Hermione. They were the two to convince Harry to seek counseling. Though _convince _was a very mild term for what they had accomplished.

He didn't need counseling. It was just another act, another role he had to master and play. He had his own therapy through hunting down and killing those who destroyed the lives of the innocent. Each kill bathed him in a sense of calm, it was extremely therapeutic for him and Harry doubted he would ever feel remorse for what he did. Not only were the killings in his benefit, but he was also helping out a helpless child, man, or woman.

Why sit back and let the legal system spend worthless time at the chance of _maybe _locking up the perpetrator? Why wait when Harry could take care of the scum at the opportune time?

"I'm doing better, I'll do better," Harry repeated numbly.

"Harry, I never—"

Before Ron could finish, the fireplace ignited with green flames and two forms gracefully stepped into his living room. He cast the two women a glance before turning and occupying himself with washing his hands. His movements were precise as he scrubbed every inch of flesh from his wrist down. Paying special attention to the area between his fingers, Harry rubbed his skin raw, the motions calming his wired nerves.

"Hey you two," Ginny greeted, Hermione at her heels. "I've come to bring you home, Ron. Merlin knows you'd probably splinch yourself if you try to Apparate or land in Malfoy manor if you try to Floo." Her smug expression faltered as she eyed the spilt whiskey. She then zeroed in on Harry furiously scrubbing his hands and deflated noticeably. Behind her, Hermione sighed softly.

In the back of his mind, he was aware of Ginny helping Ron to his feet and escaping the kitchen. It was only when someone turned off the water that Harry snapped from his tranquil haze, noticing he was alone with Hermione.

"What set you off this time, Harry?" she asked quietly, taking his crimson hands in her own and patting them with a towel.

His mind sharpened and he pulled his hands from her, self-loathing tearing him apart once again. It was extremely rare, these failures, but they happened occasional when he was feeling particularly empty and helpless. It was things like _this _that he hated about himself.

"The usual," he replied bitingly, moving past her and cleaning up the table with the towel. Shame bubbled through him. If only Riddle could see him now. The Minister would laugh and claim Harry an easy and unworthy target.

"You're a wizard," Hermione chastised as he watched Harry pat the spilt whiskey. She waved her wand, cleaning up the mess within seconds. Her eyes were a bit delirious and her tone a little too high in pitch. "Have you forgotten that, Harry? People will start to suspect…"

Harry listened as the fireplace flared up, taking Ron and Ginny away from his flat. "People will suspect what, Hermione?" Harry whispered, turning to eye her sharply. Out of all the others, his relationship had altered the most with Hermione. She was smart and she knew him better than all the others. In a way, he felt as if he were insulting her by keeping a charade in her presence.

Her face softened when she spied his cold countenance, fear rippling through the air before it calmed into stubborn defiance. "That you're _Custos, _the serial killer who seems to forget he's a wizard and accomplishes his kills the Muggle way." She crossed her arms over her chest, assessing Harry critically. "You need to stop this, Harry. Please. You can't continue this. They're getting closer now."

It was the first time Hermione had the courage to address the heavy issue between them. Harry wasn't stupid, he knew the moment Hermione put the pieces together. He just hadn't believed she would ever truly come to terms with it or admit it out loud in front of him.

He expected that he would feel shame if one of his closest friends confronted him about the killings. He imagined he would stand motionless as they expressed their disappointment, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed in humiliation. Frighteningly enough, he felt nothing but cool nonchalance and a small smidgen of self-preservation.

The latter emotion took him off-guard. Harry wanted nothing more than to keep his friends safe and happy, but he also _needed _them to stay oblivious. If Hermione threatened his freedom, his therapy, Harry was faced with a difficult decision.

Luckily, he knew Hermione well enough to know the girl wouldn't go to the authorities about him. At least not yet.

"You know that's impossible," Harry responded calmly, putting a stopper on the firewhiskey and brushing past her immobile form. "You know I won't stop."

"You're so different," Hermione suddenly exclaimed after a moment of silence. She turned around, watching Harry tinkering around in the cabinets without a care in the world. "Underneath it all, you're like a completely different person, someone I can't possibly know or understand. How can you deceive us like this? How can you make us believe that you're the same person when you're not? Are you using us—"

"I'm doing this because I _love _you. All of you." Harry snapped his head around, eyeing her vulnerable form. "Do you think Ron or Sirius would appreciate this new me? That something they could never understand had turned me into this new person? By giving them a false sense of security, I'm keeping them blissfully ignorant. They don't need to experience what I'm feeling, what I'm doing."

Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked at the ground, her eyebrows knitting with sorrow. "You're _killing _people, Harry! How can you think this is acceptable, even after what you've gone through? You need help; you can't continue hiding this secret."

Harry smiled suddenly, a sardonic smile and calmly turned away from Hermione. For being so smart, Hermione was rather thick. "You think I'm killing _people_, Hermione?" he asked lightly, casually as he closed the liquor cabinet. Stepping away from the counter, he slowly approached her, noticing her arms crossed defensively over her chest. "I'm killing _monsters_, not people," he reprimanded.

Tears refused to fall from her watery brown eyes. She kept face as he closed in on her. He had expected her to run, to back away, but she remained standing tall, the taste of her unease the only thing giving her true feelings away.

"They were bad people to do what they did, cruel people," Hermione agreed. "But is killing really the answer, Harry? How are you any better than them for committing such an act?"

It took Harry a long while to piece together what she had just asked. How was he any better? Did she truly ask that? Killing… killing… was an act of _mercy _for what they truly deserved. "Do you understand what it's like to be an Empath? Not only to feel and taste the grimy and slimy soul of the individuals in person, but to experience what their victims felt?" His neutral tone pitched low in a dangerous whisper. "Sure, you read about what happened, and you may even get the chance to see the victims confess their story and experience their tears and sorrow."

He now stood directly in front of her, their bodies just a hair's breadth away. His posture was confident and tall as he gave Hermione a good look at his true self. Eyes wide and unblinking, Hermione absorbed everything he offered her. She wanted to know the person underneath and Harry had no qualms showing her. He wasn't ashamed. He'd never be ashamed.

"But you've never _felt _what they were feeling," Harry continued cruelly. "It's rare that I get to experience what they felt, as they've already passed on before I could save them. But I'm sure you remember hearing about Albert Kinley and the two girls he _allegedly_ raped. They were alive after he was finished with them and I encountered them after the attack."

"Harry…" Hermione warned, having an idea of where their discussion was heading.

He had no misgivings as he sent wave after wave of despair and torment in her direction. It wasn't hard to remember what those children experienced, how broken they felt after the rape. He remembered every emotion vividly; hopelessness, fright, pain, confusion… defeat.

Hermione's legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground, her hands clumsily bracing herself and preventing her head from connecting to the floor. Her face was contorted in horror and fright as she absorbed the emotions Harry was conveying in her direction. Her eyes were open wide, as if she were trying to identify the attacker causing her this pain. But there was no attacker and she began sobbing hysterically.

Green eyes watched her in fascination, in slight glee. If only he could show them all this, then they would never question his motives, they would never see him as an enemy. One truly never understood another's pain unless they experienced it firsthand.

Reluctantly, Harry stopped feeding Hermione the emotions and watched her choke at his feet. "Imagine…" Harry whispered airily. "If this is what they felt like _after _the attack, what they must have felt during the rape. Those girls will _never _be the same. And that monster walked free. But according to you, he didn't deserve to die."

Hermione pressed her palms against her face and continued to cry. He thought her continued grief was due to the after-effects of feeling such raw emotions, but he slowly began to realize her sadness was directed toward his person.

His smirk began to tremble before deepening into a frown.

"You've been through so much already. Someone needs to help you," Hermione sobbed. Feelings of disappointment and betrayal omitted from her and there was even a bit of disgust.

Harry stared at her, unable to believe it. Had she not felt it? Those girls would forever be ruined because of a monster. And Hermione felt pity for _him_?

"You need help," she repeated, sniffing wetly and looking up at Harry. Black mascara smeared around her eyes and stained her cheeks in rivulets. "What did they do to you, Harry?"

A loud scream pierced his ears, the echo of Lily Potter's last moments crashing around him. He gave a roar, matching her scream in volume and startling Hermione at his feet. "No!" he growled. Taking an advancing step forward, he grabbed at her angrily but she scrambled away before he could lay a hand on her. "Get out!" he yelled after her retreating form, furious at her lack of understanding and empathy for those children.

She cast one last look at him before exiting the flat. The door slammed with a resounding _thud _and Harry locked the Floo Network before escaping toward his bedroom. His thoughts were scattered and he had the overwhelming urge to hunt. But he pushed the temptation aside, knowing he would just make sloppy mistakes when he had spent months of covering his tracks.

He entered the bedroom. Like his office at the Ministry, Quidditch posters hung on the walls and a disorderly bookshelf stood to the side with crooked picture frames placed articulately. Stepping past the unmade bed and the clothes he had placed strategically across the floor, Harry entered his closet. He pushed aside the clothes that hung according to color and pressed his palm against the exposed brick of his closet wall. It trembled before moving aside, revealing an entrance to another room.

Harry entered the room quickly, closing the wall behind him. As soon as he stepped inside his true bedroom, he released a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall.

White embraced him and soothed his frazzled nerves. Nothing stood inside his bedroom but a white-framed bed with white sheets and a white nightstand standing beside it. The floors were white, the walls were white, and the ceiling was white. There was nothing else residing inside his white haven and he preferred it that way. Well, almost nothing else.

His eyes jumped to his nightstand and the object on top of it. It was the only source of color in the entire room.

As if drawn to the item, Harry subconsciously made his way over to the bed, his eyes never leaving his source of comfort. He crawled on top the bed, resting his head against the ivory pillow to get a better viewing angle to the picture frame. His parents smiled back at him, their appearance unflawed from the horrors that awaited them in those weeks after the photograph was taken.

Hermione thought he needed help. Even when faced with overwhelming evidence that the prey he hunted were not _people_, she still didn't understand or agree with what he did. He was so certain that if she had felt what those girls had felt, she would sympathize and respect him for what he did.

Instead, she looked at him with pity, as if he were a wounded animal that needed proper care and handling.

A cruel voice wondered if she was right, if he really did need help.

Harry blinked before chuckling lowly. Of course he needed help. He slept in an artificially lit room, too afraid to fall asleep in the dark. But when it came to saving the lives of innocents, Harry knew he was doing the right thing. There were even members of the public that often sided with _Custos _and applauded him for his actions. Without Harry, those monsters would be walking free and ruining the lives of other innocents.

And yet, no matter how fiercely he disagreed with Hermione, he still felt a twinge of uncertainty and sharp betrayal. Her reaction made him feel belittled, it made him question his morality and give him lingering doubts.

These new feelings didn't sit well with him. But his drive to save those in need offset the doubts Hermione ignited in him. She didn't understand what it was like to constantly surround oneself with men and women who walked away from their crimes without a care in the world.

_But it isn't just about saving those in need; it's about _sating _your own desires, isn't it? _

Harry exhaled and forcibly pushed the question from his mind. Instead, he stared admiringly at his parents. It had been a difficult day with breakdowns and blunders.

Tomorrow, he would be better.

{**Dreams**}

Once Kingsley entered the Auror Department, he drew nearer to the man sitting in his office. He had just escaped from a swarm of reporters who felt it necessary to bombard him with questions, the same questions each day. How close were they catching _Custos_? Did he consider _Custos _a true killer and would he be tried like all the other murderers?

They were silly questions and Kingsley hardly had time to repeat himself. _Custos _was getting more attention than he warranted. Granted the man was the first serial killer the Wizarding World had seen in decades, but Kingsley still thought _Custos _was getting off on all the press.

"Find any leads?" he rumbled in question, eyeing Minister Riddle with a critical eye. No matter if the Minister had reassured Kingsley that he had no ulterior motives regarding their current serial killer, he still decided to keep an exceptionally close eye on the man and his findings.

Riddle was staring off into space and didn't seem inclined to acknowledge Kingsley's presence. The older wizard's face was drawn into an expression of weariness. "I believe Ron Weasley has supplied us with a new direction in regards to _Custos_."

Kingsley's eyebrows rose at the news. He knew the Weasley boy hadn't shown up for training yesterday and Riddle had to postpone his questioning for this morning. "Oh?" the tall wizard pushed off from the doorframe and slowly approached the desk. "And what did Mr. Weasley imply?"

Finally placing the bit of parchment on the desk, Riddle turned around and adjusted his thin-framed glasses. "A rather… brilliant quip about Cormac McLaggen being too close to Hermione Granger."

The black wizard grunted, trying to piece together what had turned the Minister sour. "McLaggen is a Half-blood lawyer," he began, trying to jog his memory of the young man in question. Suddenly, a weight dropped in his belly. "His uncle, Tiberius, is an important figurehead in the Wizengamot and is good friends with Rufus Scrimgeour." That did not bode well. Kingsley respected Scrimgeour, the old Head of the Auror Department.

Riddle watched him closely, blinking slowly and smiling just as gradually.

"This isn't good," Kingsley continued. "The boy's uncle, Tiberius, has been a member of the Wizengamot since before lawyers were used in court. Surely having a family as involved in the law as McLaggen's would count for something."

The Minister's continued silence slowly became deafening and that piercing stare was beginning to unsettle Kingsley. "Ron Weasley may just be jealous of Granger and McLaggen's relationship." It was a half-hearted attempt to steer the suspicion away from McLaggen.

"Of course," Riddle conceded slyly. "And that is exactly how careful killers are caught, Shacklebolt. No matter how perfect they may be, there is always someone with a grudge against them."

Silence spread thick between the two wizards as they surveyed the other. Kingsley forced himself to take a deep breath before nodding. "You're right," he agreed, "I should look at this from another perspective." _One that does not have any ties to Rufus. _"If McLaggen and Granger are in a romantic relationship, or even if McLaggen fancies her, it would make sense that he would want to avenger her losses in court. He also has a position of power during the day, he has the connections, and he's rather smart considering his current occupation… he fits your profile of _Custos._"

Riddle's smile was now predatory. "He fits the profile just _perfectly_, no?" The tall wizard stood up from the chair and took a step toward Kingsley. "You are improving, Auror Shacklebolt. If you remember to not let your personal feelings blind you, you may actually discover that hidden potential."

Kingsley frowned, watching as Minister Riddle abandoned the papers and made his way toward the door. "Where are you going?"

The Minister looked over his shoulder. "I think you have a solid handle on this case, Auror Shacklebolt. Question Cormac McLaggen and continue on from there. I will occasionally check up on your progress, but the case is in good hands with you."

He tried to remain unaffected, but he couldn't help but to feel a bit flattered at the man's praise. Minister Riddle was a man whom many wanted to get close to. He felt flattered to have such a powerful and intelligent man see him as a respectable Ministry official.

And yet, somehow, he felt a twinge of unease.

**{& Darkness}**

It wouldn't last long, this game of blaming McLaggen.

Harry frowned, staring through the viewing glass as the Tutshill Tornadoes played the Chudley Cannons. Next to him, Ron was on the edge of his seat, his feet bouncing up in down in excitement. His Omnioculars were clutched in his hands, but he seemed to forget he had possession of them.

A fond smile played Harry's lips as he watched the redhead. The excitement and pure joy radiating off Ron was a welcomed change. For just a moment, Harry closed his eyes, inhaling and opening himself up to Ron's emotions. It had been ages since he'd ever felt this _human_, this innocent. Merlin, he missed it. He would give anything to experience that excitement over a simple Quidditch match.

The adrenaline racing through Ron soon had adverse effects on Harry. His mind began to darken and his thirst for a hunt began to grow unbearable.

Quickly, he pulled away from Ron's emotions and turned his attention back on the game without really seeing it. It had been over five days since the incident with Hermione. Since then, he hadn't talked to her and she had been rather distant with Ron as well. It had also been five days since the Auror Department had the name _Cormac McLaggen _whispered in their ear. Unfortunately, it had also been more than a week since he'd stalked his next intended target.

He was supposed to be lying low, but it was also slowly destroying him. Underestimating Riddle had never been an option. For days, he felt as if he were being watched, tested. And because of that, he never stepped out of Harry Potter's character. He would eventually have to outsmart the eyes watching his home, or he'd go insane.

He'd also have to tread carefully with McLaggen. For right now, putting the bug in the Aurors' ears would be enough. Why start slathering evidence that McLaggen was present during the murders? He had gone through eight victims so far without leaving a clue. If he suddenly left a piece of McLaggen's hair at the scene, it would look extremely suspicious. No, he had a subtle plan. Even Riddle would have extreme doubts.

Riddle… the Minister was a bloody pain in the arse. Sirius had informed Harry that the Minister had walked away from the case the day McLaggen's name was mentioned. Either the man was disappointed in _Custos _for being such an obvious individual like McLaggen _or _the Minister didn't believe McLaggen was the suspect. Harry assumed it was the latter, but _why _would Riddle not speak up and persuade the Aurors that McLaggen wasn't the one they were looking for?

Did the man have his own game he was playing? Did he somehow want to give Harry a false sense of security by making him believe the Aurors were on McLaggen's tail and he could now relax? The man would then watch from the shadows, waiting for Harry to let his guard down before striking.

No.

It couldn't be that. If that were the case, if Riddle were that intelligent and twisted, then Harry definitely had a dilemma on his hands.

Despite his refusal to believe Riddle would conduct his own investigation, away from the Aurors, Harry had a sinking feeling that his assumptions were correct. Nonetheless, Riddle would soon grow impatient by Harry's lack of action. Or, _seemingly_ lack of action. He would find ways to escape surveillance undetected. And he would use traces of McLaggen in the next murder, miniscule traces that would take the authorities a long time to track. And he knew just the thing.

"Bloody hell!"

Harry looked up just in time to see the Tornadoes score another point. He smoothed his expression into one of amused pity as Ron turned to look at him. "I guess the Canons just can't catch a break, can they Ron?"

The redhead turned red. "Go to hell, Harry. The Canons are going to take this one. Just you wait."

"I'll be looking forward to that," Harry replied dryly.

Ron shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll never get over the fact that I get to go to whatever game I want. You have the best job in the world, mate. Free tickets, free room and board on the road, the chance to talk to the players… free merchandise!" Ron gushed, his eyes bright. "Hey, do you think maybe Parvati and I could get tickets to the next game?"

"Parvati?" Harry repeated, unsure if he heard right. "I thought you two didn't get along. What about you and Hermione?"

The redhead grimaced sickly. "What about you and Ginny?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Ron immediately appeared guilty. "I'm sorry, I…" the boy trailed off, his blue eyes looking above Harry's head. His mouth fell into a perfect oval.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, boys."

Harry's eyes widened a fraction as the purr-like voice echoed across the box they were currently sitting in. That _man_! He seethed, slowly turning around to glance at the Minister of Magic, immediately spying that egoistic smirk on the man's face. Harry prided himself with his sharp senses. And while he wouldn't be able to detect the man's approaching emotions due to the strong Occlumency block, he should have been able to _hear _his approach.

The man had been silent, too silent.

"N-no… not us, I mean, no, not at all," Ron stuttered painfully, his eyes wide as he watched Riddle walk down the steps to the front of the box.

Harry smiled thinly, shaking his head as brown eyes turned in his direction. "Not at all, sir." He watched as Riddle turned back around toward the field, standing next to the glass.

Usually Harry sat in this box himself, other times Ludo Bagman, the old Head, would keep him company if Ron wasn't able to attend the game. Harry's box certainly wasn't the main attraction at the stadium. There were other boxes that were for high officials at the Ministry or prestigious patrons that paid a large sum to reserve a luxurious seat. Harry though, enjoyed the solitude this small box had to offer.

One would really have to search him out if they wanted to find him.

"I don't recall you being a Quidditch fan, sir, especially just for Regional games." The fan base had a larger turnover for National games, whenever England hosted a team at home. Even then, Harry couldn't quite recall a time Minister Riddle sat in his prestigious box.

Riddle, his hands clasped behind his back, turned to look at Harry. "I came to see what all the fuss was about for the Chudley Canons." The older man smiled warmly, a bit too warmly at Ron. "When I spoke to Mr. Weasley last week, he suggested I attend the game. I truly hope I'm not intruding on anything."

Shock jolted across Harry at the turn of events. Ron had successfully mentioned the name Cormac McLaggen to Riddle, but Harry hadn't thought they would be so… _chummy. _If the topic of Chudley Canons had come out, what else was mentioned between the two?

Unsettled, but not missing a beat, Harry offered the Minister a toothy smile. He reached over and slapped Ron on the back, perhaps a bit too harshly. The boy's cheeks were red in shame as he kept his eyes focused on the game, afraid Harry would be upset that he invited the Minister.

"I'm afraid Ron steered you wrong, Minister. You see, he's had this unhealthy obsession with the Chudley Canons since he was young. As you can see, they aren't good enough to warrant his overzealous loyalty." He noticed Ron appeared a bit less green at Harry's good-natured response.

"We all have an unhealthy obsession, Mr. Potter." Riddle responded silkily, his eyes penetrating as they held Harry. "It takes a great deal to break that obsession once it's begun."

Harry's mouth grew dry, never remembering a time he was had felt so… _owned_. The man's cheater glasses did nothing to soften the aggressive eyes as they looked straight through Harry. The younger wizard found himself looking away in submission, internally screaming at himself for being so meek. The Minister was definitely not shy in his challenges today. Apparently the man was now more than ever convinced Harry was _Custos. _

Hating himself for turning away from a direct challenge, Harry forced himself to look back at the Minister, this time, noticing the man was offering a pleased smirk and his eyes were not nearly as penetrating as they had been. The man had actually made Harry tuck his tail between his legs.

It wasn't supposed to be like this!

"I suppose you're right," Harry acknowledged the man's earlier comment. "Obsessions are tricky buggers. Here, please sit." He patted the seat next to him, grinning widely past the burning hate_. _

Riddle nodded gratefully and sat down, his pose fluid and showing no signs of uneasiness. Instead, the man radiated _smugness._ Suddenly, as if to antagonize Harry further, Riddle lounged arrogantly in his chair, crossing his legs together and throwing a casual arm across the back of Harry's seat. The Minister's posture was dominant and challenging at it angled toward Harry.

The younger breathed harshly through his nose and kept motionless, his blank eyes watching the Quidditch match without really seeing it. He had a sinking suspicion that Riddle had found a new tactic to force Harry's hand. They were both Alpha men. What better way to get Harry to slip than by playing on his weakness? With anyone else, Harry found it easy to shrug off his controlling tendencies, only because he didn't see them as a threat.

With Riddle, it was a whole different playing field. The man got on his nerves and it was difficult _not _to rise up to the challenge.

He glowered at the players on the pitch when the arm behind him grew impossible to ignore. With a casual air, Harry leaned forward in his chair, away from the arm stretching behind him. Even with the Occlumency barriers, he knew Riddle was basking in another quiet victory.

Harry glanced at Ron, the redhead oblivious to his companion's mental struggle. Riddle obviously didn't think Ron as a threat and felt confident enough to let his Minister act slip. To think Riddle was this forward with Ron present made Harry realize it probably wouldn't be a good idea to be alone with the man again. Arguably, Harry would lose control and then he would have a very large problem on his hands.

"Mr. Weasley and I had a very pleasant conversation last Friday," the Minister drawled, drawing Ron's sudden interest, enough to pull him away from the Canons.

Harry had one hand planted firmly on the side of his head as he faced Ron's direction and away from the Minister. His position permitted him to observe the flush staining Ron's face. The overwhelming taste of flattery soured Harry's tongue as he realized his redheaded companion was complete putty in the Minister's hands. He couldn't exactly blame the boy. Ron was a struggling Auror-in-training. To have the Minister's approval and interest was a quick ticket out of training and into the field.

"Is that right?" Harry wondered vaguely, tossing the Minister a glance long enough to label it as respectful eye contact. The arrogance oozing from the elder man made Harry sick.

"Yes," Riddle answered Harry cordially. "I was impressed with his dedication. As the youngest son of the Weasley family, he has taken the initiative to stand apart from his brothers and make a name for himself. He will make a _fine _Auror that will do the Ministry proud."

Harry straightened from his hunched position and out-right stared at the Minister. His mouth had fallen open and he gave a dry chuckle. It drew Ron's betrayed attention and Harry struggled to gain his self-control. The man was _good_. Taking all of Ron's insecurities and using them as means of bait. The Minister had Ron eating out of the palm of his hand, all because he identified Ron's deep-seeded doubts and gave him false security.

He chuckled once again at Riddle before turning to look at Ron. "That's what I try to tell him all the time, Minister. I guess he just needed to hear it from an unbiased source." He winked at Ron, easily soothing the redhead's anxiety.

"Thanks Harry, Minister," Ron nodded his gratitude. "But I told Minister Riddle you'd make a far better Auror than I would, Harry. I mean, you made an impressive Seeker, but you were wicked in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

_Oh Ron… _

Ron wasn't an idiot, but at times, Harry tended to think otherwise. The redhead was loyal and he was a good friend. Harry couldn't ask for a better person standing beside him, and yet, there was always that small part of him that wanted to shake off his friends and continue on alone. It would be easier to cover his tracks if he didn't have someone like Ron handing out blatant clues to his enemies.

"A very interesting claim," Riddle's tone demanded Harry's attention. "Ms. Granger said something similar to me when I spoke to her."

It wasn't a big deal, Harry supposed. Dueling and DADA had nothing to do with _Custos. _"I suppose," Harry acknowledged, offering the man a sheepish grin. "It's not that big of a deal. I was more interested in Quidditch. My mother always told me to chase after what made me happy."

Deep brown eyes caught Harry's gaze. "A smart woman," he praised. "It is very unfortunate what happened to her and your father. Mr. Weasley and I agreed that being an Auror may help you cope with what happened, a way to release some of your pent-up aggression, perhaps."

Harry's whole being froze. Even his pulse seemed to come to a staggering halt before accelerating unevenly in his chest. His upper lip began to twitch and his hands began to tremble. Curling his hands into fists, Harry turned away from Riddle and threw an accusing stare in Ron's direction.

"No," Ron denied sharply, suddenly pale. "I only mentioned that I was surprised you didn't choose to become an Auror after your parents' murder. I didn't say anything else about it, Harry." His eyes were imploring as he looked at Riddle over Harry's head, silently begging the older man to reassure him.

"Oh, of course. Mr. Potter, I assure you that Mr. Weasley was the ever-loyal friend. He never disclosed anything personal." Riddle reached over and patted Harry on the knee, chuckling when Harry jerked it away from his hand. "No need to get hostile."

"I'm not hostile," Harry argued, struggling to reign in his control. He then turned to look Riddle in the eye, not caring if the man saw it as a challenge. Harry Potter could get angry, not every angry wizard was immediately labeled as _Custos. _"If you have questions relating to me personally, sir, I would prefer if you approached _me _and not my friends. On top of that, I would also prefer if we kept our conversations strictly on politics or Quidditch. Knowing your dislike for Quidditch and my dislike of politics, we have nothing more to discuss."

Ron stood up quickly from his seat, his eyes wide and his mouth opened in shocked dismay. "I- I have to go use the loo. Excuse me."

Harry refused to look away from Riddle, knowing beneath that gentle mask of concern, a predator lurked. And as soon as Ron exited the box, the Minister's face contorted into dark amusement. He leaned closer, easily getting in Harry's personal space.

"Such green eyes you have, Harry," he purred, "why hide them?"

The younger wizard closed his eyes, breathing to steady himself. "I don't know what you want from me." He could play the innocent and he could also play the victim. Opening his eyes once again, he was almost taken aback by the raw power Riddle was channeling. It was startling to look underneath the Minister's mask and peer into something that was much more than a predator. Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering the mystery that was Riddle.

What was the man? What were his motives?

Before Harry could stay and play with the man's exposed self, he forced himself to stand and walk away. He braced his hands against the glass of the box and stared out into the pitch. "I know you're investigating _Custos. _And I know, for some reason, your focus is on me." He turned, pressing his back into the viewing glass and glancing at the Minister through lowered lids. "Yes, my parents were murdered two years ago and I witnessed it."

Harry let his voice catch, but cleared his throat a moment later. "I guess the death of my parents could make me a prime suspect. And I guess my limp makes me suspicious, on top of my decision to play Quidditch instead of being an Auror." He gave a humorless laugh. "Yes, all those incriminating clues point to a solid making of a serial killer."

Riddle, still lounged easily in his chair, tipped back his head and let a pleased chuckle escape. "I'll let you in on a secret of mine, Harry, only because I know one of your own." The Minister suddenly stood and approached Harry with grace a man his age couldn't possibly possess. He then placed an arm on the glass beside Harry and leaned forward, their eyes level. "I can detect lies," the man hissed. "And _you _are a walking, talking contradiction."

Harry stared at the man. "Really?" he asked in dry humor. As if he'd fall for that juvenile trick. "Then ask me if I'm _Custos_ and let me know if I'm lying."

The tall wizard suddenly pulled away from Harry and smiled cruelly. "Oh no, I wouldn't do that," he admonished. "Not only because I already know the answer, but because I enjoy this game between you and me." A hand curled around Harry's chin, grabbing it possessively. "I _will _catch you red-handed. And when I do, I will be eager to see what really hides beneath that innocent façade of yours."

Harry tried to pull his chin out of the man's grasp. When it proved he would have to use force to extract himself from the Minister, Harry slumped against the window in boneless submission. "You're really insane," Harry chided, snickering in wary amusement.

_If _it ever came down to Riddle catching him red-handed, than Harry could hardly wait. Ever since all these challenges of dominance had begun, Harry's desire to wrap his hands around Riddle's neck had intensified. In fact, he _hoped_ Riddle would catch him in the act; he was looking forward to putting the old fool in his place and to show which man truly belonged on top.

Minister Riddle tsked and released Harry. "So good to see you again, Mr. Potter." The wizard backed away from Harry. "I had hoped you wouldn't be in poor spirits after your argument with Ms. Granger."

Harry frowned, his eyebrows rising in mock confusion. Surely the man wouldn't know about his argument with Hermione. Even though Ron noticed Hermione's distance the past few days, the redhead didn't know the cause of it.

"The two of you used to eat lunch together, now you avoid each other in the corridors." Riddle shook his head, running a hand down his parted hair, as if to make sure each strand was in perfect order. "I can only envision what that mind of hers holds. I'd certainly love to see that argument unfold through her eyes. I can't imagine the argument would be about anything petty, as she is a level-headed witch."

It took Harry a moment to really grasp what Riddle was hinting at. And when he finally connected the dots, the Minister had already exited the box. Harry straightened from his position against the glass, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He hated himself for letting Hermione walk away from him that night, especially now that Riddle planned to use Legilimency on her.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't _obliviate _Hermione, no, that was exactly what _he _would want. Riddle would be watching Hermione, waiting for Harry to show his hand. If Harry took the bait and approached Hermione to _obliviate _her, then it would send a message to Riddle that he really was guilty and he had something to hide. Not to mention, an _obliviate _could be broken. However, if he did nothing, then Riddle may stay true to his threat and perform Legilimency on her.

He pressed his lips together as rage washed through him.

He would be damned if he was bested by Tom Riddle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning for this chapter**: Grammar mistakes, a small adult scene, and a murder that is… rather _explosive_ and gory (though, you won't get the full effect of it until next chapter). It is not Harry's typical killing style, as he isn't very flashy (he's more of a silent type), but this kill is an exception.

**Chapter Four**

_Blood_.

It had always fascinated him.

His eyes rolled back into his head as he gave another heave, thick crimson liquid splashing audibly against the tiled floor. Gasping for air, Harry shakily pressed his palms against the floor, smearing the blood with his fingers as he attempted to pull himself up. Through hazy eyes, he considered the loo. It was so close. He supposed he could have crawled the extra distance and safely deposited his dinner from the night before and the blood that had begun to expel. But he hadn't had the strength.

Now on his knees, Harry let the world spin as he adjusted to being upright. His stomach clenched in protest but he held it down, refusing to let anything else escape his orifices. Though, he couldn't stop the blood dripping steadily from his nostrils. He watched as the droplets patted the white tiles, fascinated with the perfect crimson circles.

"Do you need help?" a voice inquired in tentative concern.

Harry grunted, sniffing his noise and swallowing the iron-flavored liquid that slid in the back of his throat. He slowly turned his head toward the wizard standing in the doorway of his bathroom. The man was of average-height, if not a bit shorter. He didn't look like much of a threat, with his lithe stature and chiseled features hidden behind ugly glasses. Brilliant green eyes were clear and strong, their true vibrancy weakened underneath the lenses.

"No," Harry snapped miserably, giving the mirror-double a look of disdain. "You'll forget this once you leave the room. Go eat breakfast. Work starts shortly."

Through lowered lashes, he watched as his double shuffled uncertainly, the limp in the man's step a perfect imitation of his own. Harry felt a stab of pride as he watched the double's instinctive movements function _perfectly_. The movements were confident, but also a bit awkward—just like the old Harry Potter.

Kneeling in his own vomit and blood, Harry clutched the edge of the counter, sagging in misery. Slowly, he raised his bowed head and stared at himself in the mirror. His face was unnaturally pale and dark circles hugged his eyes. His normally messy hair was now limp with sweat and grease. And his eyes, now free from glasses, were unusually bright in self-disgust and dark pride.

He frowned. "You'd be so disappointed in me, Mum… Dad…"

It wasn't the fact that he killed _monsters _that would disappoint them. No, his blackened fingers and the stench of Dark Magic would pain them. To realize how far he'd fallen…

He clenched his eyes shut, refusing to see the person staring back at him. He practiced the deep breathing his therapist taught him, paying special attention to keep his shoulders and body relaxed. With each exhale of breath, he could feel his tension easing and his head clearing. Though, his mind wasn't entirely clear, not when he had forced his body through hours of magical exhaustion.

As soon as he had left the Quidditch game yesterday, his mind had been in turmoil. At first, he had accepted the fact that Riddle knew he was _Custos. _He had tried to plot around that and accept having an enemy who was just as much a riddle as his name implied. He hadn't known the man's intentions; he didn't know what Riddle planned to do with the knowledge.

But then he had come to his senses. Even _if _Riddle could somehow sense lies, it would be because he was a master Legilimens. Legilimens' could detect untruthfulness. Dumbledore had been the same, as was Snape. He also couldn't feel the man's emotions and he doubted his Empathy would be able to manipulate the man's emotions. While Harry had the ability to sense and manipulate someone who was skilled at Occlumency, he was powerless against a master.

Riddle was a master. And while Harry had an extremely feeble grasp of Occlumency, he knew he would be no match against someone with a mind like Riddle. Either would Hermione. Nonetheless, while he believed Riddle was bluffing about approaching Hermione, Harry still took the threat seriously. That was, until Ron casually mentioned that Hermione was visiting her parents for the remainder of the weekend and had planned to take the trip since last week.

Somehow, Harry figured _Custos_ was the reason Hermione would even consider taking time off work.

No matter, he was extremely fortunate. Her timing worked out in his favor and it also gave him time to _think _on his next move.

Riddle detected untruthfulness from him. In the Minister's mind, that automatically gave him the impression that he was _Custos. _But everyone had secrets they hid. Did they not? _Custos _aside, Harry had other secrets. His parents' murder was an extremely personal tragedy. In fact, he had only told Sirius and Hermione the bare facts and even his therapist didn't know half of it.

So yes, Harry was hiding something. Even if the man was confident that Harry was _Custos, _he still didn't have _proof_, he had useless theories. Harry was eager to show Riddle that evidence was important to harness, especially when he showed his cards so early to Harry.

The Minister wanted to _play. _Harry didn't want to disappoint the man, he would, indeed, play a game with Riddle, but it wouldn't be the game Riddle had initiated. The Minister wanted to play cat-and-mouse, and that happened to be the man's weakness. Cat-and-mouse derived from the fact that cats often played with their prey by releasing it after capture.

Such arrogance, such stupidity. If Riddle had just pushed a little further yesterday at the Quidditch match, he would have had his claws firmly imbedded inside Harry. Instead, he wanted to play with his prey, and in turn, it gave Harry time to recover and scheme.

Their current dance was not working in Harry's benefit. After coming to that sudden realization, Harry knew he would have to make sacrifices in order to win this.

One of those sacrifices was his purity. Magical purity, that is. Having a godfather that came from a Dark family had its benefits, as did the books of Dark rituals in the Black library. Doppelgängers were… nasty things. It involved a sacrifice that Harry hadn't been all that ashamed of. A simple (corrupt) human life had been taken and the man's memories were wiped completely clean and replaced.

Creating the Doppelgänger with a time limit had also been challenging. His first attempt had been sloppy and he had almost killed the copy his first go around. During his second attempt, he had missed a step in the ritual and created a copy of himself with the mental capacity of a child. While the third go-around had been a success, it had drained Harry and the Dark Magic took its toll on his body.

The Doppelgänger wasn't perfect, but it would do. Doppelgängers had no glamours, had no illusions. It was pure Dark Magic that made a copy of its creator. Only, Harry got to pick what memories it received. He had woven all his memories into his copy, all with the exception of being _Custos. _He had also dulled his parents' murder into memories that weren't quite as clear as his were. There were also a few memories he had to omit that lead him down the path of _Custos. _The Doppelgänger didn't have the memories of his spinal surgery, he didn't have memories of the long hours studying human anatomy, the endless weeks and months of physical training, his Animagus training, etcetera.

It had been difficult deciding if he should give his copy the ability of Empathy. In the end, he had given just a trickle of it.

Harry Potter had been remade into what he was meant to be. And no one, Riddle included, would be able to detect that it was a Doppelgänger unless they were informed. Even if Riddle somehow entered the Doppelgänger's mind, which Harry was hoping for, there would be no memory of two Harry's. The Doppelgänger thought himself as the real Harry Potter and his mind would blur the existence of Harry.

Doppelgängers were rare. They were Dark. And they were created by wizards with power. No one would believe Harry Potter would have the ability to make one, especially Tom Riddle. He came from a Light family and many believed he was just a hair above average when it came to magical power.

Riddle would be chasing his fucking tail.

Harry's eyes slanted in amusement. Magically, he cleared away the mess on the floor and focused on his unregistered Animagus form.

His magic groaned around him and gave off tiny sparks to exaggerate its exhaustion. Harry ignored it and sat on his haunches. His limbs shrunk and cracked, the transformation a bit more difficult than normal due to his shocked magical core. No matter, he would recover.

Pointed black ears grew on top of his head and he could hear the Doppelgänger tinkering around in the kitchen. Harry groaned and it morphed into a pitiful meow. His vision grew sharper as did his other senses. He could hear his Doppelgänger pause in the kitchen before shuffling down the hallway.

The Harry-copy peered around the corner, blinking down at him. "I was wondering where you were, Merlin."

Harry glowered as his 'owner' lifted him off the ground and carried him underneath his arm and toward the kitchen. As soon as they were within distance, Harry leaped from his owner's hands and onto the kitchen counter. Across from him, the reflection off the teapot revealed a small furry, black cat.

Before he died, James had started giving Harry private Animagus lessons. During that time, Harry had seen his Animagus form as a canine. When he resumed his lessons after his parents' death, he realized his personality had changed enough to warrant a new Animagus form. When the initial shock of being a cat dissipated, Harry realized that he wasn't just a cat but a kneazle.

He didn't have the lion-tail that kneazles usually possessed, but he _did _have their sharp teeth and claws, and their unnatural speed and agility. When he researched what breed of kneazle he was, he also found out that he carried venom through his bite. He doubted his Animagus form would actually carry the venom, but it would be useful if it did.

The Doppelgänger suddenly dropped a plate of tuna in front of him and Harry slowly began to eat, mindful of his upset stomach. He kept an ear perked as he heard the fireplace activate. Throwing a glance at the clock, Harry was surprised to see it was already a quarter to eight. If he had taken just a bit longer…

"Harry!" Sirius bounded into the kitchen, coming up short when he saw the black cat on the counter. "I didn't know you got a cat." A growl rumbled deep in his chest and his hackles rose.

Harry cast him an unimpressed look and went back to his tuna. He listened carefully as his Doppelgänger replied, paying special attention to the way the copy moved and spoke.

"I took him in last night; I didn't have the heart to leave him outside my door. Bloody thing threw up on the bathroom floor this morning." The copy-Harry shoveled cornflakes into his mouth. "Sirius, you really don't have to approach Riddle. Please, I can take care of it myself."

Sirius turned somber. "You know that is out of the question, Harry. That smug bastard will get what's coming to him."

Harry calmly lifted a paw and licked between his claws, chuckling mentally. Another thing Riddle wouldn't expect is Harry bringing in other players in their game. The Minister likely thought Harry would carry this burden on his own shoulders. After all, a guilty man liked to involve as few people as possible, least something go awry and he get caught red-handed.

Riddle wouldn't know what to do. And Harry desperately wanted to see the man's face when Sirius confronted him.

_Oh, that's right_, he could. A Doppelgänger and its creator had a special mind bond. Harry intended to use it to his advantage to see what he missed as the Doppelgänger paraded around as Harry Potter.

After all, he needed to be places today. He couldn't waste precious time at work.

{**Dreams**}

Kingsley shook his head, exasperated at the wizard tearing through the halls of the Ministry. Sirius Black had a look of stubborn defiance on his features and nothing Kingsley did would soothe the man. Then again, he _was _a bit curious how his Auror would handle the Minister and if bringing Harry Potter along was such a good idea. Doubtless, Kingsley knew Riddle needed to be reminded of ethical boundaries.

"Minister Riddle is in a meeting with—"

Sirius growled, brushing roughly past the woman whose desk sat next to the Minister's office. Two Aurors stood on either side of the Minister's closed door, their wand arms crossed over their chest in a stance that would stun anyone who forced their way inside. Kingsley saw Sirius' readied form and sighed.

"Stand aside," he ordered the guards. The last thing he wanted was an inner-Department feud. Aurors fighting Aurors would simply not be acceptable. It would cause unneeded scrutiny and perhaps even a few job suspensions. With the public already in disarray over the _Custos _case, Kingsley would need all the men he could trust at his back.

At the Head Auror's command to stand down, the two guards loosened their stances and cast a suspicious stare at Black as the man took the initiative to barge inside Riddle's office. Kingsley motioned Potter in before him, thus taking position at the rear.

The two wizards who sat in front of Riddle's desk turned at their entrance. Kingsley did his best to remain impassive at the sight of them, but Sirius wasn't so controlled. After all, the sight of Lucius Malfoy and Theo Crabbe was enough to set anyone's teeth on edge. Never tried for any crimes, both men had shinning reputations as noble pure-bloods, but there was enough whispered rumors following at their heels to tarnish such reputation.

"What is the meaning of this?" Minister Riddle demanded sharply. The man's eyes landed on Harry Potter standing to the side and gave a positively frightening smile. "Mr. Potter, I should have known."

Kingsley crossed his arms, drawing the Minister's attention away from the boy. Potter had a stubborn lift to his chin, but Kingsley could see the flush of both anger and embarrassment. And now, with both Malfoy's and Crabbe's unwavering attention on him, Potter threw his head in a reflexive gesture of unease. Kingsley didn't blame the boy one bit.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Crabbe, please excuse us." The Minister calmly motioned toward the door where curious Ministry workers were cramming their necks to get a good look inside. "We will speak another time."

Expressions were hidden behind bored masks as the two pure-bloods stood gracefully from their chairs and bowed to the Minister. Kingsley tried his best to keep his own expressions muffled when the two passed him. There was nothing unusual about these two men meeting with Riddle. In fact, Riddle often surrounded himself with powerful and influential pure-bloods. It hadn't been something Kingsley had thought much on, especially when pure-bloods had a large hold over the Ministry politics.

For a moment, Kingsley wondered if Riddle had control over his pure-bloods and his Ministry or if the pure-bloods had control over the Minister. He didn't get much time to dwell on the matter before Sirius lunged across the Minister's desk as soon as the door shut behind Malfoy and Crabbe.

"Sirius!" Potter growled in surprise.

Auror Black had Riddle pressed up against the wall with a hand to his throat in a matter of seconds. Kingsley stood at attention, knowing Sirius had a temper on him, but never realizing the man would be so stupid as to attack the Minister of Magic. Black would and could lose his job for this little bout of rage. Cautiously, Kingsley drew his wand from its holster. If it got further out of hand, he would act.

"If you ever threaten my godson again, I will kill you," Sirius barked, never the one for subtle viciousness. His upper lip was peeled away from his teeth and he snapped them together in Riddle's face. "He's been through too much already to have you breathing down his neck and threatening the people he cares for."

Potter shuffled closer, his hand out and his eyes intense. "Let him go, Sirius. You promised you wouldn't attack him."

Riddle's eyes widened a fraction at Sirius' blunt attack, but they narrowed seconds later. "A brilliant suggestion, Mr. Potter. If your godfather doesn't release me this instance, _I _will take great pleasure in revoking that Auror badge he likes to take for granted."

It seemed like minutes passed as all three wizards were frozen in power-play, no longer moving, no longer attacking. Finally, after a long look at his godson, Sirius released Riddle but didn't feel it necessary to give the Minister room. "Harry told me how you confronted him at the Quidditch match yesterday, Riddle. How you believe he's some kind of deranged psychopath, hell bent on hiding that he's actually _Custos._"

Kingsley kept his wand accessible while crossing his arms over his chest. He watched, noticing a knot form between Riddle's eyebrows. The Minister's eyes flickered once toward Potter and then to Kingsley and Sirius. It appeared as if the man were quietly calculating, all the while, trying not to let it show that he was cornered.

"That is not true," Riddle admonished. "I never claimed Mr. Potter was a deranged psychopath."

Sirius growled. "You all but suggested it through your words, you slimy bastard. Harry has had to struggle enough without having to add you to his plate. Not only does he have to deal with your slander and acquisitions, but he has to stomach the thought of you threatening his friends. Legilimency, Riddle, really? What did Hermione ever do to warrant your suspicions?"

Kingsley cleared his throat, drawing the attention back on himself. "I must confess myself… disappointed when I heard Sirius tell me about what happened, Minister. For you to threaten an innocent witch with Legilimency is unthinkable. Not only does it violate her rights but also her personal privacy. For this reason, I have assigned security detail around Ms. Granger. Should you approach her without her expressed permission, I have given my men the right to arrest you."

Riddle drew himself upright, seemingly drawing in the power around the room. His eyes were bright behind his glasses and he kept his chin lifted in the face of several verbal attacks. Kingsley had to give the man due respect. It took a strong and confident wizard to keep his stance in a situation like this.

Before Riddle could speak, someone beat him to it.

"I am not _Custos._"

All eyes turned to Harry Potter. The boy's green eyes seemed to hold a light of their own, even from behind the thick lenses. For a moment, Kingsley saw the spirit of James Potter in his son. The voice held such strong conviction that Kingsley felt any doubts he had before wash away.

"I am not _Custos_," Potter repeated, his eyes locked on Riddle's.

One had to know what to look for in order to spy the Minister's eyes widening. It was if the man could somehow be convinced that Potter was not their serial killer through a simple statement. Kingsley understood a moment later why Riddle would be so swayed by such a simple confession.

"At the Quidditch game yesterday, I wanted you to ask me if I was _Custos. _You said you could detect lies and I know that's a trait for a master Legilimens. You should be able to sense my utter truthfulness when I tell you that I am not the serial killer and I have never killed before." Potter breathed through his nose, his eyes never leaving Riddle's.

"Then why didn't you tell him yesterday that you were not _Custos, _Mr. Potter?" Kingsley asked before Sirius could jump in.

A flush stained the young wizard's cheeks and he gave Sirius a shameful expression. "Minister Riddle has been suspicious of me ever since he came to my office for questioning. At the time, I didn't know he was a master Legilimens and I was a bit… flattered to have his attention." Potter paused, clearly disappointed in his own actions. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his messy hair. "I didn't know what caught his attention, but it made me think about something other than my parents' death. It was kind of like a… a game."

"A very dangerous game, Mr. Potter," Kingsley murmured, disappointed, but somehow sympathetic. He understood the boy's feelings. Riddle was a very powerful man. Men and women alike seemed to want to consume their very lives with the Minister, vying for a chance for the man to notice them. It didn't help that Riddle had egged Harry on by humoring the boy's wistful urges.

"I know, I _know_," Potter agreed, pulling once at his hair before turning back to Riddle and Sirius. "I guess I woke up to reality when I realized it was going too far. Especially when he began threatening Hermione over an argument we had, thinking that she held secrets that would somehow give him proof. And you should know, Minister Riddle, that I do anything to protect my friends and family." Here, the younger man stared pointedly at Riddle.

Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders, offering support. Kingsley watched the three wizards, disenchanted it had come this far, disenchanted that _Riddle _would take it this far.

Riddle's upper lip sneered as he looked at Potter but otherwise he kept his face veiled. "It was not my intention to _frighten_ you so much that you had to run to your godfather, Potter." The Minister pushed away from the wall and calmly walked back to his desk. "You lack a spine."

Before Sirius could make another physical attack, Potter grabbed him around the waist. The young wizard set his stance and threw his shoulders back in defiance. Kingsley watched in rapt attention. He could see confidence and stubbornness beneath Potter's normally awkward-casual exterior. It was an attribute that Kingsley's Aurors possessed. Perhaps Harry Potter was too uncomfortable and too modest to really let that hidden talent seep through and dominate.

He could see why Riddle would be suspicious of Potter. It appeared as if Potter hid his true abilities underneath a happy-go-lucky mask. But Kingsley saw it for what it was. Harry Potter was just humble and only showed his hand if someone stepped on his freewill or threatened his loved ones.

"Quite frankly, sir, I don't give a damn what you think about me. You had no right to threaten my friends and myself. If you have any questions regarding the _Custos _case, you may question me in the presence of other Aurors." Potter and Riddle engaged in a staring contest before, understandably, Potter looked away.

"You think you can make demands, Potter?" Riddle wondered in amusement.

"No," Kingsley stepped forward, intending to take over from here. "He is in the right to ask those things of you, Minister Riddle." Here, he raised his eyebrows at Sirius and Harry. "Please leave us, Auror Black, Mr. Potter."

Before Sirius could offer anymore of his eloquent input, Potter pulled him out the door, ignorant of the Minister's eyes following him. Kingsley, however, was not. He stepped into the Minister's line of sight, only speaking when the door behind them closed once again. "I am disappointed—"

"Save your words of justice for someone who cares, Auror Shacklebolt." The Minister sat back down at his desk, his face a slate of formality. Whatever showed on his face during his earlier interactions was now gone, causing an observer to wonder if they had seen it in the first place. "I made a mistake; I understand the consequences of my actions quite well, thank you."

"Did you truly think Harry Potter was _Custos_?" he questioned in hilarity.

The thin smile Riddle offered was chilling. "Perhaps just as much as you, Kingsley."

Kingsley bristled. "I don't know what—"

"The security detail you have watching the boy? Come now, I am not easily fooled."

The Aurors _had _been assigned to watch Harry Potter, yes. And Kingsley supposed he had some suspicions regarding the boy. But he also had suspicion regarding Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, as well as Cormac McLaggen. All of them were being watched. Not just Harry Potter. "And how would you know what my Aurors are doing, Minister Riddle?" Kingsley allowed his own unnerving smile to cross his lips. "Unspeakables at your beck-and-call or your own secret army you claimed did not exist?"

Riddle, completely unfazed with Kingsley's attempt of intimidation, chuckled quietly. "I have eyes everywhere, Auror Shacklebolt. You do not need to concern yourself over their identities."

It was almost frightening, knowing that his position as Head Auror gave him a great deal of power, but not enough power to override the Minister. It was especially difficult when there was no proof the Minister was doing anything illegal. Kingsley didn't know what Riddle was up to, or if the man was even up to _anything. _He just felt uneasy in the man's presence. And he wasn't about to throw out his reliable sixth sense because he couldn't see the reason behind his uneasiness.

"I will not interrogate Mr. Potter without your permission," Riddle continued, his face back to its elderly pleasantry. "I don't believe he holds anything worthwhile."

"I remember you said something similar when we first spoke with him regarding _Custos_, back in his office," Kingsley retorted, pleased that he remembered. "Nevertheless, I agree he is not _Custos._ I would, however, like your cooperation on this case, Minister. You bring good ideals to the mix. Though, I will not allow you to organize a private interrogation yourself. If you have theories, I suggest you come to me and we can _legally _execute them." He nodded his goodbye and turned to leave.

"Kingsley," Minister Riddle called after him. "I didn't recall hearing about the deaths of Lily and James Potter when it happened, only a few whispers of it in passing. And I don't remember hearing of the trial or the outcome. What happened with the Potters?"

Kingsley turned around, ready to tell the Minister off. However, when he looked at the guiltless expression on Riddle's face, he found his tongue loosening. He didn't seem to be able to look away from the brown eyes. "Lily and James Potter were upheld citizens, truly. It would have been a publicized case, but Harry and Sirius requested it be kept under wraps. They were murdered, I know that much. I believe it was an act of jealousy and personal vengeance." Kingsley squinted, his eyes watering as he focused intentionally on Riddle's unwavering gaze. "That's all I know…"

Riddle frowned, disinterested with the whole affair, and waved a hand. "I thought so, nothing too tragic. Good day, Auror Shacklebolt."

He left this time, feeling as if his head was swimming and far too heavy to hold up.

**{& Darkness}**

A gentle smile crossed Harry's lips as he opened his eyes. He had merged his mind with his Doppelgänger and had witnessed the scene from Minister Riddle's office first-hand. It had been… a work of art. He had imagined each character's reactions and actions and the final act couldn't have gone any better.

_And Riddle! _Harry calmly lifted his teacup and sipped from the scalding liquid. Even the splash of lemon and honey couldn't compete with what he was feeling right now. Nothing tasted sweeter than Riddle's the man felt doubt, Harry knew. After all, his Doppelgänger had looked a master Legilimens right in the eye and told the naked truth. He was not _Custos. _Riddle would have sensed the truthfulness in that statement and he would have felt shock.

Of course, Harry also knew Riddle was stubborn. Either he would keep Harry at a distance and observer or he would attack brutally to prove his point. Riddle didn't like to be proved wrong and the man was most likely stewing over the fact that Kingsley, Sirius, _and _Harry had cornered him in his own office and reprimanded him like a child.

Oh yes, Riddle wouldn't sit back and stew. Riddle would make his move soon and he would make it brutal.

It didn't matter. Harry was prepared for whatever Riddle threw at him. The Doppelgänger would be Riddle's target and Harry intended to stay out of the way, if not nudge the two together. It was likely Riddle would attack the copy, hoping to bring out its true nature or perform Legilimency in more depth. That was ok, simply because the Doppelgänger had nothing to hide, nothing but a few shocking glimpses of his parents' murder. After Riddle witnessed the lack of incriminating evidence, he would have to accept his mistake and move on.

It _was _a bit saddening to lose such a fierce and worthwhile opponent. But Harry knew he had to move on just as Riddle. He had more important things to focus on.

"I said I wanted mustard on the side, not on top," Cormac McLaggen chastised the waitress with a haughty tone. "I come here every day; I would have thought you'd know by now."

The girl, a pretty brunette, flushed hotly. "I- but I'm new here."

Cormac ran his eyes the length of her body before sighing. He handed the platter back to her, almost making her drop it in his haste to release it. "That is acceptable. In your pardon, I would like another sandwich. Thank you." He dismissed her, turning back to the rolls of parchment on his table. Picking up a quill, he made corrections and notes with a flourish.

Harry watched, his eyes lingering across the boy's face. He hadn't paid much attention to the boy at school, but he knew McLaggen was arrogant and haughty. There were different levels of arrogance a wizard could carry. There was arrogance that steamed from an ability someone excelled in and it didn't have much recourse on the individual in question. And then there was arrogance from an individual's own warped mind that they were superior to others. The latter type of arrogance is what Harry had and what Riddle had, and, unfortunately, was what McLaggen had.

However, the difference was how they handled that arrogance and how they allowed that arrogance to run their actions.

It made Harry and Riddle graceful, smarter, and _superior_. McLaggen's arrogance made him stupid and blind. And _that _was how Harry planned to lead McLaggen around by the noose.

Under a mild charm that would give him different features, Harry leaned back in his chair and stirred his tea. Cormac was right about one thing, he _did _come to this Wizarding restaurant every day for lunch. Every day, he'd sit at that table and order the same thing while he worked his cases. The only thing that changed his routine is that Hermione would accompany him some days. But Hermione wasn't here today; she was still at her parents' house.

Harry grabbed the parchment near his cup, glancing over the letter once more.

_Dear Harry,_

_I understand your request, doubtless of whether I approve of it or not. I will not speak of the matter we have discussed that night and I will not bring it up again. But I will not stand down on my belief that you need help, Harry. If you ever change your mind about accepting my help, I will wait for you. I truly believe you can heal from this. However, I will not force it on you and I will not bring it to an outsider's attention. You are my friend and always will be. Your protection and happiness have always been my top priority. But that doesn't mean I will be able to interact with you the same way I had before. For Ron's and Ginny's sake, I will try. _

_I received Sirius' charm that blocks Legilimency attacks. I will wear it and protect my secrets. Riddle has no right to come into my mind uninvited and I guarantee you that he hasn't done so already. _

_My parents are well. It has been so long since I've spent time with them. Sometimes I remember you and think you would do well to stay with them for a while. Just because your parents are gone, doesn't mean there are not others here that will love you just as much if you let them in. _

_Please be safe,_

_Hermione _

Harry had her silence for now. Though, he knew he couldn't depend on her to keep her word forever. Eventually, Harry would have to decide what to do with her. An _obliviate _would do, especially if he successfully shook Riddle off his tail. Though, he'd need to remove the charm Sirius sent her that gave her a natural Occlumency shield strong enough to ward off master Legilimens' attack.

Now that he had Hermione and Riddle under control for now, he could focus on directing _Custos _away from Harry Potter. He needed evidence of McLaggen at the scene of the crime, but not enough evidence to convict the boy. Subtly would work and it would make the Aurors chase after Cormac, but never fast enough to catch him.

Cormac had a routine he followed honorably and it would be easy enough to work around it. There would no doubt be Aurors watching McLaggen so Harry would have to keep his distance and rely on glamours to keep his face as disguised as possible.

Green eyes traced casually over the wand Cormac had abandoned on his table. The boy hardly touched it or used it, too absorbed in his legal work. It left him wide open for an attack.

Harry picked up his tea once again, feeling strangely at ease for the first time in ages. He didn't need to keep the heavy mask of the old Harry Potter on his face, he didn't need to interact with his friends as if everything were back to normal… he could be _himself_. He could hunt and he could scheme, all the while, the Doppelgänger was at the Ministry, eating lunch with Ron or Sirius and acting sane.

He had doubts about the Doppelgänger, he still did, but right now, he wanted to keep his mind clear for his next plan of action. After all, his target number nine was waiting for him.

**{Collide}**

Number nine was sitting vulnerably, her hair bound up in elaborate twists, revealing the thin and arching neck. She seemed out of place in the tavern, doubtless that it was one of the most posh and dignified Wizarding clubs around. Ordered drinks were zooming over the heads of the guests, veering sharply if someone stood in its path. The floor was charmed to alter appearance every ten minutes, ranging from underwater reefs to exotic nightscapes.

Despite the aristocratic atmosphere, the club housed a good handful of shady patrons. Number nine aside, there were spice dealers and illegal traders, there were men who preyed on younger women, and then there were teens that somehow snuck inside for a chance to find a rich and desperate hookup.

Harry didn't pay them any heed. His eyes were on the woman sitting at a lone table, her perfectly manicured nails caressing the edge of the counter. There were few pure-bloods who came to this tavern, but just enough to give the tavern a bit of posh and credibility. Pure-bloods preferred to stay inside their manors and toast themselves silly in the privacy of their own wards. If they did go out in public, this would be their ideal retreat.

It was _her _ideal retreat and she was a very prominent name among pure-bloods.

Estella Zabini, victim number nine.

And what a beauty she was. Of course, her beauty was her weapon. Any man, straight or gay, would become a blubbering idiot with one look at her. Even Harry, who saw her as his next victim, still found it difficult to breathe around her. Her skin was a deep mocha color, flawless and smooth. The woman's blue-black hair was just as silky as her skin, usually falling past her shoulders in tamed waves was now pinned up to show her long neck. Her face was beyond perfect, sculptured sharply to show each curve and juncture. The perfect lips and the _eyes… _which were pale in color, contrasting sharply with her dark skin.

Beautiful, but so twistedly deranged. Harry had to remind himself why such beauty had to die. Many Muggles would name her a Black Widow, preying on men but for the sole purpose of their gold and fortune. For a long while, she stayed at seven husbands, seven victims. Just this past year, she married her eighth and he died soon after. All her husbands died of mysterious causes and yet, Estella Zabini was still walking free, her killings an enormous joke among the pure-blood society.

They thought it amusing, to see how many men she could lure and snare. Her many connections to the powerful pure-bloods made her untouchable to the law. She was an innocent witch, after all. Blessed with her good looks but cursed with her luck.

Such bullocks. Ms. Zabini was on the hunt again, looking for her ninth husband, her ninth victim.

It was rather fitting. She was _his _ninth victim and he was _her _ninth victim.

He stood up and approached her, making sure to keep his stance casual and his face hidden in the shadows. He did wear a glamour of a notorious pure-blood back in America, but he'd rather not draw any unwanted attention on himself.

She looked up, catching his eye and positively _glowed. _"Andrew, I'm so happy you made it."

Harry offered her a tight smile, sitting down with his back to the other patrons. "I must admit, while you look lovely this evening, I had my doubts for coming," he confessed, losing his British accent. They both looked down at the gold band on his left ring finger.

He had started stalking Estella a few weeks after her eight husband's death. He _let _her notice him a few days after that, when he memorized her routine. She liked to come to this tavern and scope her next victim. When she first approached him, under the guise of Andrew Raile, a pure-blood in America, he tried to act taken aback at her beauty but also guarded. After all, he told her he was married but was having a rough time. He was visiting Britain for a time and didn't know the surname Zabini.

Obviously Estella thought he would be an easy victim. He was oblivious to her eight husbands and he was having troubles with his marriage. He also had money, he casually hinted at, and he was rather taken with Britain and its rich culture.

Estella reached over and laid her hand on top of his. "Is that why you took so long to take up my invitation? Are you finally getting along with your wife?" She made it sound as if she were hopeful that he was on good terms with his wife. But she pitched her voice lower and her eyes all but shimmered provocatively. Her fingernail traced the thin skin on his wrist in lazy and seductive patterns.

Harry flushed despite himself. He wasn't a virgin and he was more than confident around both men and women. But Estella Zabini was a level above it all. She wore a low cut dress, showing enough to amplify her breasts but not so much to cause outrage among the conservative pure-bloods. Her lips, now parted in a teasing smile, were glossy and full, making Harry wonder what they would look like wrapped around his—

He moved his hand away from her, snarling at himself for letting her manipulate him. He often got these visions, these petty fantasies. He believed Estella had an ability to feed her victims images of provocative sexual scenes and fantasies. If he were any other man, he would salivate at the images and grow hard enough to submit. It was the same trap she snared on eight men before him. Zabini despised men. He could feel her amusement now and it was dipped in acid. She thought men were all pigs and easily manipulated by a few suggestive words and innuendos.

That may be the case for many men. But did that truly give her the right to lead men along in false security before killing them? Was a man's lust really damning enough to warrant their demise?

One of her husbands died from a snake bite. Another died from choking on his breakfast (in bed of course). One had a heart attack. One fell off his broom. One died from flesh-eating slugs. One ventured in one of the Zabini's charmed closets and couldn't find his way out before starving to death. One took a slicing hex across his chest and down to his groin from an unnamed vengeful ex-lover. And Harry's _favorite _death was the explosion that killed and dismembered her late husband.

It was the latter death that he would grant Estella with. It would be flashy and it would be publicized. He much rather preferred his silent killings that the Aurors would have to be called to. This one would involve the public and the Aurors would need to scramble to take care of. Of course, only Estella would be harmed. Harry couldn't live with himself if he accidently killed an innocent bystander.

"I- I suppose we're on speaking terms," Harry intentionally stuttered in answer to her question, avoiding her eyes and acting as if her vision had truly affected him. "But…"

She chuckled merrily, leaning closer. "But what? Come now, you can tell me." She laid a hand on his arm, leaning forward and giving him an eyeful of perfectly shaped breasts. Her dark areolas peeked out, only a teaser to what else laid beneath her dress.

"When I'm with you, she is in the back of my mind, a mere afterthought…" Harry trailed off, staring boldly at her breasts and then at her lips. He placed a hand on her hip, his fingers digging in her thin dress. "Please," he croaked, sending waves of acceptance in her direction. The manipulated Empathy would only enforce her belief that she had successfully snared him. "Let me please you…" he growled, his hand sliding up her leg and between the warm and smooth thighs.

Estella threw back her head and gave a breathless laugh, her hand urging Harry's fingers closer to her folds. "My, my aren't we bold tonight?"

Harry gave a wolfish grin hiding his revulsion as he stuck his finger inside her. She wouldn't feel the shrunken device that would explode on his command. Normally the size of a human palm, Harry had shrunken it to nothing but a microscopic chip that hid underneath his fingernail. The device was well known to dragon keepers, who used them to stun dragons. On humans, it was large enough to cause an explosion but it had a small proximity. No one else would be killed, only a few bumps and bruises.

He leaned closer, dislodging the device inside her as he gave her moist folds a teasing stroke. "I…" he pulled away, noticing her eyes were not lust-hazed like a normal woman's would be. They were sharp and they were half-lidded in hopes to fool him that she really was enjoying the treatment. "I don't know if I should do this," he confessed, pulling his hand away. It was tempting to put his finger in a glass of alcohol and sterilize her from his body.

_Disgusting. Vile._

Estella leaned in and suckled his neck. Harry stiffened. He didn't want his DNA anywhere _near _the crime scene. He had already taken care of his fingerprints. And he'd cast a sticking charm for his hair, but one could never be too careful. Anything that came off his person could point in his direction.

Casually, he leaned away. "I don't know what came over me, Ms. Zabini, I apologize. I'm usually not that… bold as you say." He pressed a hand to his face, willing it to burn. "And in public no less."

She tsked, unwilling to let it drop. "You're attracted to me. I'm attracted to you. Let's be adults about this, Andrew." Her leg brushed against his underneath the table. "We're in a dark secluded corner of the tavern. No one would be the wisest."

Yes, no one _would _be the wisest.

Another vision formed in his head, this time, her well-manicured nails were doing _very _pleasurable things to his body. Harry let a groan escape past his lips and he stood shakily from his chair. He wanted her to feel confident that her visions were affecting him. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely. "I- lets… go someplace private."

"My home," Estella agreed.

Before she could stand, Harry braced a hand on the table and leaned toward her. He preferred showing his victims the identity of their avenger, only because it was denied to him when many faceless men came to attack him and his parents. And for a moment, he was tempted to show her his true face. Of course, he thought better of it. This was a public kill, he could not risk them seeing Harry Potter.

"I need to use the restroom first." He watched as her playful gaze looked downward but he didn't give her the satisfaction of looking at his groin. Besides, there would be nothing there that would excite her, simply because _he _wasn't excited.

Although, his excitement suddenly sprang to life as he began walking toward the restrooms and the exit. His breathing grew deep and steady as he took out his wand. Well, not his exact wand, exactly, but it was his for the night. As he passed into the threshold that would ensure his exit, Harry lifted his wand and flicked it once. The muffler on the wand made the reactions slower, but he only needed to cast two spells.

The first flick was to enlarge the device inside Estella to normal size. Behind him, he could hear her strangled gasp, drawing attention from the other patrons. Harry flicked his wand once more just as he walked out the front door of the tavern.

Seconds later, a loud and bright explosion erupted from inside.

Harry blinked, stumbling from the force of it, but continued on down the street.

* * *

**Notes:** _Where the hell are you going with this story E.S.?_ A very good question. I assure you, this is more than just _Custos _and his targets. I suddenly realized this was a lot bigger than I thought it would be. Also, I have/will leave out some of Harry's plotting for a reason. It's more fun that way. =)


	5. Chapter 5

A lot of you asked if Riddle would _sense_ the Doppelgänger. No, he would not. Imagine a Doppelgänger as a dark artifact. Most of them don't 'leak' Dark Magic. It did take a lot of Dark Magic to create and it would be noticeable _on_ Harry (who created it and used so much Dark Magic). _  
_

_Thanks for your reviews! I decided to go ahead and post this chapter. It was already half-written._

**5. Chapter Five**

Blaise slammed open the solid oak door, not caring about the wards that may or may not have been constructed to keep out unwelcomed visitors. He had visited these set of chambers once before, with his… his mother, but never by himself. He was too intimidated by the man to seek out his company. On occasions, he heard Draco Malfoy brag about meeting the man for dueling lessons, but Blaise always thought Draco was a spoiled brat who liked to talk big.

Now though, his grief and anger fueled his courage to confront Lord Riddle by himself.

"I want him dead!" Blaise snarled, stopping short in front of the massive desk. "No, I want _him _for myself. I want to make him suffer like my mother suffered!"

The man behind the desk kept on writing, as if Blaise's entrance was nothing out of the ordinary. Blaise crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling very small standing in front of the sprawling and tall desk that housed the powerful man behind it. His dark eyes searched his Lord. About a year ago, an elderly Tom Riddle was replaced with a younger, far more handsome man. It had taken his followers a long while to get accustomed to the change as they tried to figure out how Lord Riddle managed to find the fountain of youth.

Riddle looked to be in his late thirties, early forties. He was in his prime once again, his face free of wrinkles and his sharp facial planes sharply cut and sculptured. When he was surrounded with just his allies and followers, Tom Riddle dropped his elderly persona, his glasses included. Perhaps the most striking change was the man's eyes. The brown bled away to crimson, freezing anyone in their line of sight.

Blaise was confident enough with himself to admit their Lord was attractive, a _powerful_ attractive. Many of the witches, pleased with his new appearance, tried even harder to make his eyes linger on them. He never seemed interested, though. Riddle only gave them polite attention like he gave the rest of his loyal allies.

"What has your mother gotten herself into this time, Mr. Zabini? Has she found a new prey that has deemed himself untamable?" Lord Riddle murmured, his feathered quill moving across the parchment with quick and clean precision.

The younger wizard glanced angrily to the side, trying to hold his tongue in check. As his eyes roamed the opposite side of Riddle's expansive room, he caught sight of a large portrait, the woman inside a familiar sight. She was Merope Gaunt, Tom Riddle's mother. She was an ugly thing, Blaise remembered, and the portrait only reminded him of her ugliness. She died a few years ago and everyone knew her death had been a harsh blow to their Lord. Her death had turned him a bit colder, a bit crueler. He had doted on her and treated her like royalty.

Blaise had never interacted with her; neither had most of Lord Riddle's allies. Merope tended to enjoy her own company and the company of her son.

Her crooked eyes peered at Blaise, her mouth beginning to etch down in a frown.

"I guess you could say that," Blaise managed to spit out in answer to the man's sarcastic inquiry. "She's dead." A sick pleasure twisted his belly when the quill finally stopped scratching. He turned back to his Lord, finding it hard to keep eye contact with the crimson eyes now directed on him. "_Custos _got to her. He painted the damn walls with her…" he trailed off, his voice cracking.

Tom Riddle straightened his shoulders, though his cold face showed nothing. "_Custos? _Are you certain it was him?"

Blaise trembled. "Didn't you hear me, My Lord? I said he painted the walls with her! No right-minded wizard or witch would…" he shook his head, unable to continue again. He had to stay strong. He knew what his mother did with men was dangerous, but he also thought she was smarter, slyer than her prey.

"I was not called," Lord Riddle pointed out, motioning to the glass sphere that turned red whenever the Ministry needed their Minister. "If the Aurors are not there—"

"I knew my mother was going to the tavern tonight. I arrived only minutes after it happened and came directly to you. There were no Aurors yet because they're too slow!" Blaise pointed an accusing finger at the man, the same man whom many pure-bloods bowed to and trusted. "You _promised _to protect us, to protect my mother! What is it worth following you if you can't even manage that?"

"That is quite enough."

Blaise paled as he felt the shift of temperature in the room. Yes, he had to remember _power _was the main reason most families followed Lord Riddle. Through his grief and anger, he seemed to have forgotten that. He bowed his head, his shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry, My Lord."

"Your mother lured men and then killed them for a few pieces of gold, Mr. Zabini. Does it truly surprise you that she got caught in her own web?" Riddle stood from his chair, the globe on his desk suddenly turning red. "I cannot hold your mother's hand. Nor can I protect her from her own stupidity. I am sorry for your loss and I will try to keep your mother's death as vague as I can for the papers."

The man's tall frame dwarfed Blaise. It didn't help matters that Riddle was also gifted with broad shoulders and muscles to boot. Such an intimidating figure…

"Go home and make arrangements. You are the head of the Zabini family now." The Dark Lord touched his shoulder gently before pushing him toward the door. "Try to get some rest."

Blaise found himself walking stiffly out of the office before he truly comprehended what was happening. "And _Custos_?" he asked blankly, glancing back at the Dark Lord as the man fastened his Ministry robes and applied his elderly glamour back on. "May I have him?"

Riddle suddenly turned, his teeth bared into a cruel smile. Blaise took a quick step backward, his pulse racing in fear.

"You may not. _Custos _is _mine_."

{**Dreams**}

"Bloody… _hell_…"

"Bloody is an understatement, Black," Auror Grey patronized, flicking her blonde pony over her shoulder as she looked around the tavern.

Kingsley watched his Aurors, if only giving himself an excuse to look away from the gore. Further down, near the exit and entrance of the tavern, Minister Riddle entered, the late hour doing nothing to hinder those sharp eyes. "Welcome, Minister Riddle," Kingsley greeted solemnly. "As you can see, we just arrived to… survey the crime scene."

"Butcher house," someone murmured.

The Unspeakables were roaming around the empty tavern, brushing for forensic leads. Their wands were lit with black lights, looking mainly near the table where the explosion originated from. It would be difficult, picking up on fingerprints and hair that was from their serial killer and not from past patrons. Kingsley didn't know all their tricks on finding forensic evidence, but he did know they were able to distinguish the length of time the hairs and fingerprints were left behind.

Kingsley tried not to look at the body parts strewn across the floor as he turned back to assess his Aurors.

"What was his aim this time?" An Auror Investigator demanded the quiet room. "Is this even _Custos_? Explosions aren't his MO. He likes blades and he didn't even leave his signature behind."

"Signature?" Minister Riddle inquired dryly. "I was unaware we gave _Custos _claim to any signature."

"The smile, of course," Sirius Black replied haughtily, leaning back against a table in a superior way. To rescind his suave image, his heel stepped on a piece of flesh and he gave a strangled cry, jumping away from the mess and tiptoeing back to the center of the room. "All of _Custos' _victims died with a smile on their faces. We thought maybe he alters them postmortem but our theory wasn't solid."

Kingsley blinked back at the head of the body, not enough features savable to identify it as Estella Zabini. Her mouth was blown apart, showing an endless void of open jaw. The eye sockets were also visible as the eyes did not survive the heat of the blast.

"I don't think he would have been able to alter her expression. Not only would he have known if her face would have stayed intact, but he wouldn't have waited until after the explosion settled to alter her. In front of a room of witnesses, he wouldn't have done something so foolish." Kingsley put his hands on his hips, turning around to survey the tavern. "It was public and it was an explosion… I think we're looking at a copy-cat. This killer wants attention, whereas _Custos _preferred the privacy of his victims' house or the place of his victims' crimes."

"It definitely throws us for a loop," Riddle, of course, spoke up. "But this is most definitely _Custos._"

"Of course it is," Auror Grey agreed. She had a foolish grin on her face as she survived the men around her. "His victim was Estella Zabini," she said, as if that explained everything.

The men all paused in their scrutiny of the tavern and looked at her blankly. Kingsley noted Riddle was the exception. The Minister had his hand cupped to his jaw in quiet contemplation, his eyes staring unseeingly at Zabini.

Grey huffed, her cheeks turning red. "Men." She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded her chin toward the severed body. "_Custos _sees himself as a type of last-resort justice. His victims never get prosecuted for their crimes. He would likely leave them alone if they were prosecuted and sent to Azkaban for their term. But his past victims were either acquitted or the charges just suddenly dropped."

Here, she glanced at Riddle with a cloud of uncertainty. "Go on, Auror Grey," Kingsley coaxed gently.

Her pale eyes turned toward her boss and she gave a thankful nod. "_Custos _obviously sees there is something wrong with our legal system. Politicians seem to walk away from their crimes, powerful business wizards and witches, and… in the case of Estella, pure-bloods seem to have their own blanket of protection. She's killed _eight _men, Auror Shacklebolt, enough to label her a serial killer. No one seems to remember that. It's always hushed up as an accident. But who the hell has eight husbands that die from mysterious accidents? And Zabini remains free, sitting back and collecting her late husbands' fortunes? It's not justice."

The attention on her didn't seem to bother her one bit. Kingsley considered her himself, hearing a lot of the press' words in her own speech. The public thought much like Auror Grey did. After hearing her passionate tirade, Kingsley felt a bit of doubt settling about his own opinion of _Custos. _There was a very unsettling realization that their justice system _was _corrupt. Most politicians _did _seem to walk away, as did pure-bloods and other influential men and women.

Kingsley did his best to make arrests and bring in corrupt criminals. But he was powerless to what happened in court with the Wizengamot council and their lawyers. "Nonetheless, it does not excuse his method of justice, it does not excuse the murders. Even criminals deserve rights, not automatic death handed out by a man acting as a god," Kingsley reasoned.

Auror Grey threw her head. "I know that, sir. _Custos' _killings make him a wanted criminal. But that doesn't mean I can't relate to his _reasoning_ for targeting his victims."

Around him, Kingsley noticed most of the Auror Investigators were quiet, mulling over Grey's outspoken opinion. Some would quickly disagree with Grey but others would contemplate and silently side with her. Nonchalantly, Kingsley glanced at the Minister from the corner of his eye. Should Riddle take insult to Grey for daring to speak against his Ministry and how corrupt it was?

Kingsley knew Riddle was intolerant toward _Custos _for causing such uproar in his Ministry. With Estella Zabini's death, the public would either become more against _Custos _or more passionate that he was doing the right thing. They would then point out that, yes, the Ministry and its justice system was corrupt and _Custos _was in the right for getting rid of a danger to the Wizarding World. A danger that the Ministry hadn't gotten rid of first.

"So…" Black shrugged. "We know _why Custos _is targeting his past victims and why he targeted Zabini. Why didn't he use his dagger this time around? Why the explosion that may have harmed innocent bystanders?"

"All the other patrons are unharmed," an Auror announced as he came back inside from interviewing the witnesses. "Only a few cuts and bruises, but otherwise, they're perfectly coherent."

Suddenly, for the first time tonight, Riddle offered his input to the current situation. "Albert Kinley, _Custos' _eighth victim, had his genitals cut off, a direct correlation to his crimes of pedophilia. Estella Zabini's last husband died from an explosion."

"Potion explosion?" a sandy-haired Auror questioned.

Riddle turned to look at him blankly. "No. It was reported that he activated a malfunctioned insert up his anus," the Minister responded professionally, as if he were simply retelling the events of the Goblin War.

Sirius Black choked on his saliva, his face a crimson red. He wasn't the only one in the tavern that shifted uncomfortably. "A bloody dildo killed him?" He bowed his head in submission when Riddle stared, a disproving stare that calmly told Sirius such language was not professional.

Kingsley shook his head. He placed a hand to his forehead as he felt a headache beginning to grow behind his eyes. "Was such information made public? Or are we looking at a serial killer who has inside information at the Ministry?" He did not remember hearing about the last Zabini husband. If he had read it, he would have likely remembered.

"Oh, it was made public," Auror Grey spoke up, a light to her eyes. "If one wished to read past the advertisements in the _Daily Prophet, _they would have found it on the last page. I remember clearly."

That only narrowed it down to the general public who read the _Daily Prophet _from cover to back. "And…" Kingsley removed his hand from his forehead and inched closer to the Unspeakables hovering over the severed body. "What have you been able to distinguish as the cause of death?" He hoped to Merlin it did not mirror her late husband's death. But Kingsley had his suspicions that _Custos _wouldn't find any other death justifiable.

A hooded Unspeakable held up a circular device the size of a human palm. The wizard's gloved hand probed the object with his index finger. "A simple stunning and heating device used for dragons, sir. Dragon keepers use this to pacify dragons. It is not normally harmful to humans, unless, of course, it is implanted in the human body when it is activated."

Kingsley dreaded asking, but he knew he must. "And was it implanted in Ms. Zabini?"

The Unspeakable looked at his companion and the two shared a look Kingsley would have never been able to distinguish. "Originally, it was reduced in size, to fit inside the cavity. But we have confirmed it was implanted vaginally, sir."

A few snickers leaked across the room and Kingsley whirled around, a fierce scowl on his face. "This is not a _joke_. I will not have my men disgrace this Ministry by not being able to control themselves when they hear an inappropriate word. We have a _very _dangerous criminal on our hands. Let's keep our heads out of the gutter and focus on the task at hand." He gave one long pointed look at a group of young Auror Investigators standing near the doors. "Go find the owner of the tavern, gentlemen. Bring him in here."

They hurried from their post, not inclined to anger their boss any more than necessary.

"The implanted device could represent the way her last husband was killed, but it could also represent Zabini's crimes. Like Albert Kinley, whose genitals were cut off from his sexual act with children, Zabini used her sexual prowess to lure men." Auror Grey tilted her head in contemplation. "I don't think we would know his line of thought unless we catch him ourselves and ask."

Before Kingsley could reply, the door of the tavern opened and the owner walked inside. The man was a bit older, perhaps Riddle's age, with slicked back grey hair and an unsettled expression on his face.

"I want this cleaned up," the man ordered, gesturing toward the dismembered body on the floor. "Certainly you realize it's bad for business."

Kingsley walked over to the owner and towered over the man. Riddle aside, Kingsley had a height advantage in the Ministry. It was time he used it for good use. "What's bad for business is a killing in the first place," he spoke deeply, causing the owner to start. "What kind of security do you have here, Mr.—?"

"Bones," the owner replied tartly. He glanced at Riddle, awed for a moment, before assessing the rest of the Aurors. "I didn't think about serial killers blowing up my patrons when I put together the security, Auror Shacklebolt. I thought of unruly teenagers that would get themselves in trouble and in turn, me. There is an Age Line at the entrance and that's it. There are also wards over the glasses to prevent anyone from slipping an illegal potion inside."

"How old does one have to be to cross the Age Line, Mr. Bones?" Black wondered.

Bones cast Sirius a look of disdain. "Twenty-one, I don't allow anyone younger than that to enter."

"_Custos _is twenty-one or older," Kingsley murmured to himself, though it wasn't much of a lead. They had already known he was an adult. "I figure _Custos _is young, a radical with young ideals. He is also physically fit, not many elderly men can attack their opponents with as much zeal as he can."

Auror Grey shifted. "How young are you talking, boss?"

Kingsley glanced at Riddle once again. "You seem rather quiet tonight, Minister. Was Estella Zabini a good friend of yours?" he poked gently, irritated at the man's stubbornness. Perhaps Riddle was still upset about Harry Potter proving his innocence and didn't want to offer any more insight because he couldn't stand being wrong.

Riddle slowly turned to look at him, his expression not letting Kingsley know if he was affected by his words or not. "Auror Grey asked you a question, Kingsley. What is your estimation of _Custos' _age?"

"Late twenties, early thirties," Kingsley guessed logically.

Before he could continue their line of discussion, Bones flicked his wand toward the walls, murmuring an incantation. "Before I was interrupted, I was going to tell you the walls record the ongoings of the tavern. I have up to forty-eight hours of recorded material."

Everyone winced as the lights dimmed and the tavern filled with memories of people sitting in chairs, standing next to the bar, and coming in and out of the tavern. Sirius stumbled back as a transparent woman pushed past him, heading toward the bar. The sound of muffled conversations and music could be heard and Kingsley had to confess that he was extremely impressed. He approached a table where two women were talking and laughing, their images only slightly translucent and colorless.

"This was only ten minutes before the explosion," Bones interjected, looking pleased with himself. "As you can see, over there, Lady Zabini is sitting by herself."

And too true, Zabini was sitting at the table the Unspeakables were currently surrounded by. It was disheartening, seeing a living Zabini sitting next to her dismembered body on the floor. Kingsley turned back to the room of patrons, searching for _Custos. _The adrenaline caused his pulse to race. Certainly it couldn't be _this _easy to catch their serial killer?

Before he could make assessments of the patrons, Riddle beat him to it.

"Over there, in the corner opposite of Lady Zabini."

Kingsley pivoted, his eyes jumping person to person before they landed on the lone figure sitting confidently in his chair. He squinted, noticing the handsome features and the dark blond hair. "Who is he?" he barked to his men. He didn't recognize him! Was _Custos _simply this arrogant to walk up to his victim in a crowded room? Or was he using a damn glamour?

_Custos_, his eyes calculating Zabini, suddenly stood up. As the killer made his way closer to the Aurors standing in the middle of the room, Kingsley took a step back, even though he knew it was just a memory. He found it hard to believe someone could move with such grace and lethal swagger. Next to him, Kingsley noticed Riddle's eyes narrowed and a dark smile crossed the man's lips. He didn't want to think on the Minister's reaction, too many conspiracies would get in the way.

As _Custos _passed them and closed in on Zabini, Kingsley found himself surprised by the welcoming glow she greeted him with.

_She knew him. He was her next target and she was his next victim. _

Kingsley shook his head, watching the two interact and listening to their conversation. _Custos _came off a struggling man, apparently identified as an Andrew Raile with an American accent. He seemed bashful, almost flustered at Zabini's attention. Kingsley found it hard to see any deceit underneath the act, which only meant _Custos _was a good actor. It made Kingsley uncomfortable with the realization that they were hunting someone with such intelligence.

And then the two closed in on each other and Kingsley _knew _where _Custos' _hands were just then.

"Ick!" Sirius exclaimed, but did nothing to prevent himself from leaning forward and looking underneath the table to get a closer look.

Kingsley curled a hand around the back of his neck and forced his head back up. He paid his Auror no heed as he took in Minister Riddle. The elderly wizard was standing especially close to the memory of _Custos, _his eyes intent and dangerous. Riddle leaned forward, his nose and mouth inches from _Custos. _Kingsley squinted, trying to distinguish what the hell the man was doing, but couldn't make anything out before the scene changed once again.

_Custos _stood up from the table, looking flustered and giddy as he reassured Lady Zabini that he would return after using the loo. Kingsley stood back as the man passed him once again and watched as the wizard took out his wand and gave a merry flick.

Luckily, the tavern owner, Bones, quickly canceled the surveillance charm as soon as the explosion sounded.

"He used magic to activate the device… at a crime scene!" Auror Wes exclaimed, gesturing toward the place where the memory of _Custos _stood moments ago. "He's never done that before."

"He had a muffler on his wand," Kingsley replied tensely before looking at Bones. "Mr. Bones, if you would please step back outside, we will straighten things out in here before we leave." He watched through lowered lids as the owner shuffled back outside. "A muffler will distort the magical signature of the wand."

"They do," an Unspeakable agreed, suddenly rushing over to the location _Custos _had used magic. "But we have the necessary tools to piece the magical threads back together." He waved his wand and suddenly, the air around him turned thick and visible. There, in front of him, was a cloud of glittery-gold dust. The Unspeakable waved his wand over the cloud, caging it in a conjured glass bubble.

Kingsley watched, assuming the Unspeakable had trapped _Custos' _magical signature inside. "Are you certain you can pick up the signature from such a small charm?" He wouldn't get his hopes up.

The cloaked Unspeakable nodded, shaking the bubble and causing the yellow gold to sprinkle around the globe. "The process is incredibly vital and we may lose the magical properties to the point of ruin, but chances are we will be able to do it. It will take some time, but I believe we can put together a traceable signature. If the wand has been registered, we'll be able to cross-check who owns the wand."

"We can also pick apart the device and see if the magic connects to the wand," another Unspeakable informed. He stood up from his position by Lady Zabini's body. "There is no physical evidence near the table. The handprints on the device and on the table were made of synthetic skin. The fingerprints are artificial."

Kingsley pressed his lips together, his optimism sinking only slightly. If the Unspeakables couldn't piece together the magical signature, then they would be back to square one. "Wand mufflers cannot be made by a common wizard. They are purchased on the black market."

"We are not dealing with a _common _wizard, Auror Shacklebolt," Riddle interrupted snidely. "We're dealing with a highly intelligent and lethal serial killer. Are you certain he couldn't construct his own muffler, hmm?"

"I am," Kingsley rebutted, holding his ground. "We will be going to Knockturn Alley and subtly asking around about the muffler and the purchaser. The device implanted in Lady Zabini is also not a top-seller in Diagon Alley. I assume Dragon Keepers will be helpful in our quest in finding out where _Custos _got his hands on one."

Auror Grey nodded sharply, pleased with his intuition. "And Andrew Raile? _Custos _glamoured himself as Mr. Raile to lure a false sense of security in Mrs. Zabini. I don't know who he is, but we can track him down and question him. It may be a dead end but it may also prove worthwhile." She gestured toward Black. "I'll take Black with me."

"Good." Kingsley approached the table where a good majority of Lady Zabini's remainders were. "Was there anything else you found informative?" He didn't like working with Unspeakables, the lot of them were too intelligent and enigmatic for their own good. Though, he wouldn't deny they were damned useful.

"He was leaking Dark Magic," one of them murmured, calmly collecting the various pieces of Zabini's body. "Even after he's gone, there is still Dark Magic that lingers where he sat."

That caught the attention of various Aurors and especially the Minister. "Ah _huh, _I thought so," Sirius Black boasted. "It reinforces my theory that _Custos _is a Slytherin." He ignored the scathing looks sent his way as he grinned ruthlessly at Riddle.

"Not quite," the Unspeakable murmured in amusement. "This kind of Dark Magic was thick and incredibly potent, but it doesn't necessarily mean _Custos _is a regular practitioner of the Dark Arts. It simply means he was experiencing the after-effects of performing too much Dark Magic in a short amount of time. The wizard or witch who uses an abundance of Dark Arts can give off noticeable symptoms to a trained eye."

"Can it be traced?" Kingsley inquired quickly, possibilities running through his mind. Next to him, Riddle narrowed his eyes in serious contemplation.

The Unspeakable looked at him. Underneath his hood, Kingsley could have sworn he spotted the irritated frown. "Of course not, sir, it's simply the after-effects. Like a wizard brewing potions, a trained nose would be able to smell the ingredients he was using. With our tracking spells, we can sense the Dark Magic here, but it is impossible to identify a signature from it."

_Ah… _of course. "Well?" he pressed. "What can cause such strong aftershocks?"

"Anything, Auror Shacklebolt," Riddle answered for the Unspeakable in exasperation. "One can cast the _Imperio _constantly until they reek of the Dark. I'm afraid you're sniffing around a dead-end."

Kingsley turned to the Minister, eyeing the tall wizard warily. Riddle seemed rather snarky this evening; then again, they were all tired from the late hour. "Pack your things, let's get out of here. We'll reconfigure tomorrow morning and follow up with what clues we have."

The Aurors began filling out of the tavern, though some stayed behind to guard the entrance until the Unspeakables were finished cleaning and collecting. Kingsley watched them gather the remains of Estella Zabini, feeling his gut wrench in disgust. Someone would need to contact her family and inform them of what transpired tonight. He gave a side-long glance at the Minister, watching the elderly wizard suspiciously.

"You know who he is," Kingsley murmured softly. He wanted to keep this conversation between the Minister and himself. "The way you watched him… you knew. You _do _know."

Riddle turned away from Estella's severed corpse and gave a twisted smile. "Your investigation is not with me, Kingsley. I am not your enemy; we are hunting the same man."

"But for the same purpose?" he bit back, knowing full well he was stepping over his boundaries.

The Minister shook his head sadly. "We've already been over this, Auror." Tom Riddle pushed off from the table and slowly walked away. "Estella was a good friend. Now, more than ever, I want _Custos _caught. If I have to take matters into my own hands, I will certainly do so." He paused, turning to look at Kingsley over his shoulder. "Please don't confuse my independence and passion for deceit. We will catch him, Kingsley. Keep up the good work."

Kingsley crossed his arms over his chest, watching the man glide from the tavern. He sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. A high pure-blood witch had just been killed. The Wizarding World would be in an uproar about this. _Custos _was directly challenging Riddle and the Ministry, claiming he wasn't afraid to incriminate pure-bloods like the justice system was. It was a bold move. The public would love him and the pure-bloods just found a reason to get involved in this case.

Aside from the Ministry, _Custos _was going to have to look out for the high society of the Wizarding World.

Then again, Kingsley wondered if that just excited _Custos _more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning/Note: **Another kill. And maybe some grammar mistakes (though, those aren't as bad as a murder). I really should be doing my homework, but I wanted to write this first. I didn't have time to re-read it for editing.

& thank you to those of you who reviewed!

**6. Chapter Six**

"_Tell me, woman." _

"_Please, I don't know!" _

_Harry closed his eyes tightly as he heard skin striking skin. Even through the thin wall, he could hear his mother's pained moan. Their captors did this on purpose. When they felt especially vindictive, they moved the family in three separate rooms where they could hear the other being beaten and tortured. Often times, Harry was in too much pain to pay attention to what was happening in the room next to him, but today, he could clearly hear his mother's frantic denials. _

"_After days of neglect and physical torture, one would think you'd be smart enough to answer our questions. At least it would save your family the torture, no?" _

_Another hand struck Lily and Harry moaned under his breath, feeling her muffled emotions of desperation and horror. _

"_I don't have what you're looking for!" Lily cried out, somehow keeping her voice steady through her fright. "You have the wrong person." _

"_Remus Lupin seems to think otherwise." _

_Harry's eyes snapped open and he heard his father screaming in denial on the other side of Lily's room. For days, he had slept on the cold ground, licking his wounds and listening to his stomach as it ate itself. The days that he was granted with human contact were filled with harsh blows to his face and body. At times, they grew creative and used magic to torture. His arm was dislocated and his jaw didn't seem to line up. And all the while, he had never gotten a good look at his captors. They had a charm on their faces that caused their features to blur and spin. _

_But… if what he said was true! Remus Lupin! _

"_Isn't that right, Remus?" the tormentor growled. _

"_She has it," a voice agreed. It didn't hold its usual warmth to it, in fact, it sounded desperate, harsh. But it _was_ a voice Harry was incredibly familiar with. After all, Remus worked with his mother and was friends with his family. He would always be able to identify the man behind that voice._

_And Remus was now the first and only identity Harry was aware of in this hell. There was something that made him feel incredibly vulnerable when he couldn't see his tormentors. When he looked at them, he was exposed and they weren't. _

_No victim should be without the face and the identity of their attacker. _

"_You're not in a talkative mood tonight, I see." The tormentor commented after Lily's continued silence. "Well, that can be remedied. Perhaps the screams of your son and husband can get your tongue loose." _

_It was all the warning Harry had before his door was slammed open. He stared numbly at the large body that pushed itself inside. The meaty fist pulled back and collided with Harry's cheekbone. A _crack _sounded through the room and Harry grunted, refusing to cry out, refusing to put his mother through more hell than necessary. _

_It was when the stranger's wand touched his skin did he scream bloody murder. _

Harry inhaled deeply, waking up with a start, his fingers and lips twitching uncontrollably. He cried breathlessly, his face contorting as he curled himself into a fetal position. The white room calmed his racing pulse, reminding him that he was no longer in the hands of his enemies.

With blind desperation, he reached out and snatched the white picture frame off the nightstand. He cradled the photograph of his parents to his chest and rocked back and forth. The dreams, those memories, had become almost nonexistent and few in between. It was surprising to have one with such startling accurateness. This one had been particularly vivid, especially for it being so early in their captivity. It was when the torture picked up and the needles had begun piercing his skin that his Empathy had increased in potency and the memories were more concrete, more haunting.

Suddenly, a loud laugh thundered across the room and Harry scrambled up, dropping the picture frame on the ground. The glass shattered, but as soon as the frame branched off in veiny shards, it magically melded back together as if it were never broken.

With cat-like grace, he danced away from his bed and got down in a defensive stance. When his mind cleared was clear of sleep, he realized the voices were coming outside his bedroom. He straightened, slowly approaching the panel in the wall. As he pressed his hand against the white tile, the wall moved aside, revealing the inside of Harry Potter's closet.

Harry ducked into the closet, moving away the perfectly-arranged clothing in order to merge fully into his pseudo bedroom. As soon as he was in the dark room, he morphed into his Animagus form and trotted over to the doorway. He could already identify the voices as the Doppelgänger and Ron Weasley. The two were arguing over the latest Quidditch game between Ballycastle Bats and Puddlemere United.

Upon closer inspection, Harry was surprised to see Ginny and Hermione crowded near the entryway as well. It suddenly dawned on Harry that it was seven o'clock in the evening. Considering it was Friday, Harry assumed the four were going to the pub.

It was strange, watching them.

His tail flicked in agitation as he scrutinized the four as they interacted. Such innocence, such naivety. It had been over a week since Harry created the Doppelgänger. Since then, and since Estella Zabini's death, Harry hadn't stepped foot out in public as Harry Potter. He let his Doppelgänger parade around and when the copy was asleep, Harry would transfer it's memories inside his own mind to see what he had missed.

And he hadn't missed much. Beside the occasional information from Sirius regarding the _Custos _case, Harry Potter was just busy with work and friends.

_Friends. _

Haunted green eyes watched as the four figures snickered at one another before exiting the flat. Harry sprinted across the kitchen and leaped on top the counter. He was able to watch the four climb down the steps and into the night-life of Diagon Alley. It was strange watching them, watching himself with them. That's what he could have been if he didn't have the potent memories of his parents' death and the suffocating gift of Empathy.

When he created the Doppelgänger, he made sure to construct a copy of himself that mirrored his personality as much as possible. But without all the memories of his parents' death and without his Empathy, he realized the Doppelgänger was noticeably different. At least Harry noticed a difference. It was a bit disappointing that Hermione hadn't grown suspicious yet or confronted him about it. He understood Ron, Sirius, and Ginny had been waiting for the day that Harry would go back to _normal_. They believed it finally had happened. Hermione surely wouldn't believe it was that simple… would she?

Trying not to let his self-pity and the sudden onslaught of isolation affect him, Harry leaped off the counter and sauntered back to the bedroom.

While the Doppelgänger busied himself with mundane activities this past week, Harry was able to be productive during the day.

So far, the Aurors were still sniffing after leads from Estella's murder. Pity they were all leads Harry had intentionally laid out for them. The more they dug into the leads, the further they got from the name Harry Potter and the closer they got to Cormac McLaggen. And after viewing the Doppelgänger's memories, Harry was able to see Riddle was keeping his distance at the Ministry.

Either Riddle was sulking or he was scheming.

Harry was willing to bet everything he had that Riddle was scheming. It was the Minister's move. Either the man would show that he was still pursuing Harry or he had found interest in another suspect. Considering the man was stubborn, Riddle would hunt after Harry until he had black and white proof that he was innocent. The only evidence that would be good enough would be evidence Riddle dug up himself.

Harry was biding his time. The Doppelgänger would most likely be in trouble, if Riddle really was a serious threat.

Harry shrugged back into his human form, cracking his spine and scratching the hair behind his ear. His lip began twitching again and his fingers began patting his thigh involuntarily. To stop his tics from getting the best of him, he figured he would distract himself from his anxiety. On the bright side, these tics and his obsessive compulsion disorder had improved considerably this past week. While he had to continue straightening things up and putting things back where they belonged after his Doppelgänger went to work, he _was_ able to function a lot more clearly now. He wondered if it was from the decrease of stress and anxiety.

Reaching for the false drawer of his dresser, he pulled away the paneling. He grabbed the dagger inside the box, staring at his reflection in the blade. His mouth curled as he stared unseeingly at himself. He would definitely need a larger blade for his newest victim. A butcher knife would do nicely, or more appropriate, a cleaver knife.

Harry chuckled merrily, pressing his lips against the cold blade and closing his eyes. His long week of roaming freely had been good for him. He had several new targets scoped out. It was truly amazing how many corrupted souls walked the streets of Diagon Alley as if they were actually _normal. _

For the past week, Harry had made a habit of sitting on the patio of a quaint café and sipping Earl Grey tea. He would enjoy the sunshine and he enjoyed the chance to act freely without the overwhelming fear of people seeing underneath his mask. As he sat there, his face relaxed, he would observe men and women and children, opening his Empathy up toward the strangers and feeling what they did.

There were corrupt souls everywhere. But ever since his parents' death, he came to terms that _everyone _was a bit corrupt. Some killed out of self-defense, some cheated on their spouses, some were clinical liars, some were drug users, and some had unclean thoughts but never acted on them. But no matter how small their crimes were, their souls still tarnished and Harry could feel and taste the degree of their corruptness. Though, it was easy to bypass these souls and zero on the truly corrupt.

There weren't many. As the truly evil had passed him during those mornings, he watched them closely, memorizing their physical appearance and their feelings. He only ever followed and observed when he came across someone so damaged.

Someone like Potion Master Erik Slore.

Harry pulled away his dagger, attaching it to his holster. Erik Slore was a very prominent Potions Master in the black market. Prized with his hands and his pockets heavy with gold, Slore was well-known among the inhibitors of Knockturn Alley. He made deals with slippery men and provided illegal ingredients to those who had no knowledge on how to handle such toxic plants and venom. He brewed potions that would poison his clients' victims and he never blinked an eye unless it meant he would get cheated from his payment.

All that was unethical, but it hadn't been _enough_. It hadn't explained why Harry had vomited in the nearest rubbish bin when he had first come in contact with the man. How could someone feel and taste so unclean? So… filthy?

The pieces had come together after Harry observed further.

The day Harry found out what special ingredients Slore used, was the same day he concluded he would need to act quicker than usual. Master Erik Slore was a brilliant Potions Master, but he was also a successful experimenter. The man took special interest in using pieces of the human body as ingredients to dabble with potions that had yet to be invented. Not simple corpses at the Wizarding Morgue, but bodies that had yet to grow cold.

Harry twirled the grey cloak before fastening it over his dark shirt and pants. The material fell to his knees, allowing for easier movement, while giving him enough coverage. He pulled the hood up over his features before crouching and securing the laces around his boots. They were a size too small than he usually wore them, just in case his footprints were left unaware at a crime scene. Nonetheless, they didn't hinder him in anyway.

His fingers caressed the leather of his boots before his body contorted into that of a black cat. He glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was close to the scheduled time he wanted to keep. Eight o'clock was his ideal time to hunt tonight, only because McLaggen would most likely find it difficult to give a decent alibi.

There was no guilt or fear as he made his way toward the cat-door of his flat. Instead, wicked excitement and a sense of duty fueled him.

{**Dreams**}

"Oh Merlin, please, please let me go!"

Her screams wouldn't and couldn't be heard. He paid her no heed as he pulled her by the hair and toward the stone table. It wasn't vital, but Erik wanted to be certain he didn't cause any damage to this specimen unless intended. The last one, despite the preserving spells, had passed away before he could fully remove the spleen. That last one had also been on the plump side. The loss wasn't as large as Erik imagined it would have been.

This one, while female and not the particular brand he liked to work with, was a full adult and had a healthy body. He had already run blood tests and she turned out to be just as healthy on the inside.

She screamed piercingly from the top of her lungs as she was pulled from the refrigerated unit. Erik sighed, holding her at arm's length as his fingers curled in her hair. He surveyed her, ignoring the tears and snot cascading down her face. Should he continue on his research with the various blood diseases or should he consider looking at the female reproductive system? This female specimen had no history of child-bearing; her uterus was most likely ripe and healthy.

Male breeds were far more ideal over females. It was rare his interests led him to collect females, perhaps he should take advantage of it and prod the ovaries or uterus.

"Contemplating on whether to use her heart or her liver?" a voice murmured softly in question.

Both Erik and the female turned motionless at the voice. The specimen suddenly struggled more furiously, trying to turn around and plead to the stranger for help. Her short arms, cut off at the elbows and sealed off to stop the infections and bleeding, waved back and forth in desperation. Erik had cut them off during her first night here. The hands were a very valuable ingredient, as was the brachial artery.

Despite the invasion in his lab, Erick wondered if this person was a supporter of his work. "Her spleen or uterus, actually. Though, I'm leaning toward the latter."

Erik released the female as a boot swiped at his face. The Potions Master stumbled backward, surprised and dismayed as he watched the specimen scramble away. Looking around the potion's lab, he looked by the cauldrons, but didn't find what he was searching for. He was certain he had placed it by the cauldron!

"Looking for this?" the man, certainly a man, inquired, twirling Erik's wand between his leather-clad fingers. "Amusing, really, how much wizards depend on it and how little they take care of it." He cocked his head underneath the deep hood.

Anger suddenly replaced his calm intrigue. "What do you want?" Erik demanded, his fingers curling in on themselves as he saw his wand being held by another. "Is it a potion you desire? You don't have enough gold, that must be it." He glanced toward the female ingredient, watching as the specimen dug at the sealed door with its stubby arms. "Why don't you let me finish what I was about to do and then we can sit down and discuss matters."

"I only have one potion I need, and it requires an ingredient only you can provide."

Erik perked up. He should have known. Only those that knew him were supporters of his masterpieces. This man was no different. "What ingredient?"

Beneath the deep hood, the stranger gave a toothy smile. "You."

Alarm surged through the Potions Master as he quickly reached for the powder on the shelf next to him. With deadly accuracy, he threw it at the cloaked figure. Erik blinked as the glass vial smashed on the floor where the figure had just been standing. The powdery substance exploded in a cloud of white, the particles intended to render a victim unconscious upon inhalation. Coughing, Erik hurriedly covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the voices.

"Please don't hurt me," the female begged pathetically.

"I won't hurt you," the man reassured her, his harsh tone softening. "You're free to leave, so long as you give me at least twenty minutes with him before you run to the Ministry."

Erik gave a muffled howl, charging at place where he believed the intruder to be standing. As he crossed the cloud of powder and into the clear air, he stopped short, staring at door. The specimen was no longer huddled in front of it and the man was nowhere in sight. Erik whirled around when he heard a _whish _across the potions lab. He watched through narrowed eyes as the cloud of powder slowly dissipated, leaving an empty and silent room in its wake.

Not willing to take his chances, Erik tried the handle to the door, but found it stuck. "You don't understand!" Erik cried out to the seemingly empty room. His eyes flickered around the lab to every nook and cranny, but couldn't spy the man. His pulse raced as he realized he was facing a lethal threat. "I experiment to _help _others. Those specimens are for the greater good, they would be lending themselves for a worthy cause!" He gave one last tug at the door, licking his lips in desperation. He couldn't Apparate without a wand and his wandless magic was spotty at best.

Turning his heel, he hurried toward the knives. "You can't seriously think yourself as a savior!" Erik scoffed at the hidden predator. "There are _no_ heroes. You'll get caught eventually. Or better yet, you'll slip one day and turn into the very same thing you hunt! At least I know what I'm doing is to help others. People like you just don't understand."

As soon as he reached for the handle of the knife, a leather-clad hand curled around his wrist. It had come out from nowhere! Erik cried out as his arm was twisted behind his back. He was swung around and the first thing he noticed was the unnatural green eyes.

With the hood now lowered, Erik was able to see that the male was nothing but a child. He stared. He would have thought his assailant would have been someone he had known. Instead, it was a young boy in his late teens, perhaps early twenties. A subconscious part of him noted that the boy was handsome and most definitely healthy. He would make a very decent ingredient. The boy's eyes… there must be a genetic secret as to why they were so vivid.

"Funny," the boy purred into his face. "They usually fight back."

And then the boy sent three sharp jabs to the side of Erik's neck with the side of his hand. His eyes rolled back into his skull as pain paralyzed him and rendered him boneless. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

It was only seconds that blackness covered his vision, for when he blinked away the distortion, he was aware of the boy standing over him. Pain seared his body and nausea, as thick as he ever remembered, churned his stomach. A headache formed behind his eyes as he groaned in misery, turning on his side and dry-retching.

"I'm sure you are well aware that I just hit your vagus nerve. Many consider it a cliché and overdramatized 'pressure point', but to you and me, we know exactly what happens when that particular nerve gets pressure applied to it." He was whispering softly, paying no heed to Erik as he moaned on the ground. "I don't think you'll be in much of a mood to struggle, even _if _you can get your motor skills to listen to you properly."

Erik spluttered, his cheek pressed flat against the cold ground. It was the only thing he could do with the nausea and the pain. The boy was an expert. It took a skilled fighter and a man knowledgeable of the human body to be able to strike someone and render them as useless as Erik currently was. But if the boy was so skilled, why hadn't he used his knowledge of the human anatomy to kill Erik? Why keep him conscious?

Through teary eyes, he watched as the boy sauntered gracefully over to the large freezer. He gave a dull chuckle as he watched the wizard shuffle partially inside, his shoulders going tense and rigid as he peered at the gathered ingredients. The boy moved away, revealing the inside of the stock-room. A proud glow warmed Erik as he was gifted with an eyeful of the large vials sitting on the shelves and on the floor. Many parts of the human anatomy were submerged in preserving liquid, all coming from countless of different specimens. His particular favorite was the hearts, still whole and hearty.

"You're a sick bastard," the boy spat, his beautiful green eyes bright with revulsion. He slammed the freezer shut, apparently too weak-stomached to admire the grandiose ingredients.

"To- to each h-his own," Erik slurred out, the strike to his vagus nerve causing his speech to suffer. Using his hands, Erik struggled to push himself off the floor. But a shoe pressed into his chest, forcing him back down on the ground. He grunted, struggling to breathe.

The stranger then crouched above him, watching in malicious amusement. "I am Harry Potter, by the way." The boy reached over to the knives and withdrew the cleaver knife. "I only think it's fair that you know me as well as I know you, Erik."

Erik struggled as soon as he saw the cleaver knife curled in the man's leather fist. He threw his fist up toward the boy, intending to hit his face. As soon as he hand came within distance, the boy swung the cleaver knife and chopped his arm off at the forearm.

Pain shot up and down his arm and Erik screamed shrilly as blood coated his face. A hard and skilled fist then punched him on the right side of his torso, right where his liver was. His screaming stopped, only because the wind was completely knocked out of him, making it impossible to breathe past the pain in his arm and now his liver. Then the pain grew unbearable in his abdomen, making the pain from his arm seem almost bearable.

He huffed in short cries, unable to get enough air to scream. Distantly, he was aware of the bastard above him throwing his severed hand into a nearby cauldron.

"You finally get a taste for what your victims felt," the boy murmured. "I only wish I would have had more time with you." He offered a coy smile, his handsome features giving off an almost boyish innocence. "I'm sure your _ingredient _won't give me the full twenty minutes I asked for."

With that, he pitched the cleaver forward and Erik pressed his eyes closed, readying himself for the unimaginable pain. Before the knife fell, he cried out, "You're just like me!"

{**& Darkness**}

Kingsley looked down at results of the magical signature, blinking at the silent Unspeakable standing motionlessly on the other side of his desk.

"You're one-hundred percent certain on these results? And Ollivander has confirmed this?"

Instead of replying, the Unspeakable only tilted his head in confirmation. Kingsley chuckled breathlessly and straightened as he considered the results. It had taken over a week, but now they had an identifiable magical signature. "We should call Minister Riddle. We've had a break-through on the investigation." Just as he was about to call the Minister, Auror Grey leaped inside the room, her face cheeks flushed with excitement and adrenaline.

"There was another murder, sir. This one's a blood-bath." She paused and a thin smile stretched her lips. "And we have our first witness."

{**Collide**}

Well this was certainly interesting.

Harry leaped off one roof and onto the next. A twisted smile warped his lips as he watched his Doppelgänger walk home from the pub, oblivious. The copy was completely unaware of the dark shadow stalking him, but Harry was more than aware. He scoffed in amusement, his eyes slanted as he watched the shadow follow the Doppelgänger at a quicker pace when they entered a district in Diagon Alley that consisted of more housing flats than shops. The number of wizards and witches wandering the streets became thin. No one would take notice of the scuffle about to transpire.

Draped in his own shadows, Harry considered the shadowy figure. He knew, without a doubt, that it was Riddle. There were only three people Harry encountered before that felt like an empty void opposite of his Empathy, and one of those three was dead.

He didn't think Severus Snape would be stalking Harry Potter on a Friday night, waiting until he exited the pub.

And it made everything so perfect. How many people had been at the pub tonight? How many of those had seen Harry Potter sit at a table, surrounded by his three mates during the time of Erik Slore's murder? Even Riddle had witnessed Harry Potter at the pub. When he got his call tonight at the Ministry, he would have even more evidence that Harry was not _Custos. _

Everything was perfect. Just perfect. And Riddle would soon get his hands on other evidence that would force him to accept the fact that he had been wrong this entire time.

Harry stood at the edge of the roof, peering over but making sure he stayed unseen. He knew what Riddle had planned. The man was a Master Legilimens. There was no way in hell he would not use that talent if it meant discovering who _Custos _was. Still, it was a bit disappointing that Riddle would sink to such forceful methods. Harry would have thought the Minister was a man of careful deliberation and sly execution.

Underneath him, Riddle closed the distance between himself and the Doppelgänger. The Harry-copy gave a startled cry as he was dragged into the alley between two buildings. The Doppelgänger struggled and tried to go for his wand, perhaps another sign that this was not _Custos. Custos _attacked physically before he attacked magically.

Harry crouched at the edge of the roof, watching the proceedings through narrowed eyes. He knew the man was Riddle, and yet, the appearance was way off, perhaps forty years off. Harry had seen photographs of Tom Riddle when he was a younger man. The Minister in the alley below him mirrored his younger self and it intrigued Harry completely.

Not only was the physical appearance off, but the aura around the man was shockingly different. Minister Riddle was known for being a powerful wizard and there were times one could feel a powerful aura surrounding the man. But from Harry's position, he could sense the heaviness that encompassed the older man. It was the same heaviness that Albus Dumbledore had often carried that made ordinary wizards reverent.

"Interesting," Harry purred, watching the couple below. It would seem as if Harry had underestimated Riddle himself. And it also would seem as if Riddle was hiding his own fun secrets. Perhaps it was time Harry _did _keep an eye on Minister Riddle's duties when he was off the clock.

Below, Riddle encircled the Doppelgänger's waist and slammed him against the wall face first. The taller wizard flattened the Doppelgänger further against the wall with his chest and leaned closer, the act almost shockingly sensual.

Harry tsked at the scene. He may have felt a bit jealous of his Doppelgänger earlier, for having been so _normal. _But if Harry had never walked down the path of _Custos_, he realized he would actually be this vulnerable and open for attack. He would rely too much on his magic and not enough on the physical art of combat.

Riddle grabbed the copy's chin and forced the Doppelgänger to look at him. Even from Harry's position, he would have liked to think he had felt the powerful waves of Legilimency being performed. The Doppelgänger grimaced, his knees weakening as Riddle entered his mind, searching and searching for the proof that would lead him to the conclusion that Harry Potter was _Custos. _

Harry remained crouched as we watched. A part of him was breathless, hoping Riddle wouldn't find anything in the Doppelgänger's mind that would give them away. For that reason entirely, he decided he would step in when Riddle would have enough time to see the Doppelgänger's innocence, but not enough time to search further. Who knew what Riddle could find and how could the man was?

"I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered that you would think I was someone as inconspicuous as Harry Potter." He let his voice soften enough to make his true voice unrecognizable. His pulse began to race in something akin to pleasure and adrenaline as Riddle turned to face him, dropping the Doppelgänger on the ground as if there was nothing else as important in this game but _Custos. _

Harry crouched with his back to the moon and in the shadowed alcove of the roof. With his hood also drawn, Harry was confident the man would see nothing identifiable. Nonetheless, his muscles were tense in preparation just in case Riddle decided to strike. The man was currently standing above the fallen Doppelgänger, his body completely still and motionless. His face was upturned, the moon's rays bathing his features and drawing attention to the widening smile.

There was nothing said between the two as they continued to eye the other. Harry could feel a similar smile stretching his lips as he looked down at the man. Though, Riddle's toothy grin made him look like a satisfied cat who had just caught his dinner in his exposed claws. The Doppelgänger breathing unevenly at his feet also made Riddle appear like a guilty child caught in the act.

Harry reached out a leather-clad hand toward the man in mock engagement. "The last time I saw you, Riddle, I was sure you had half a foot in your grave. Tell me, how does one go from pushing his eighties to discovering the fountain of youth?" Even in the dimness, Harry suddenly realized the man's eyes were red. That certainly couldn't be good.

Riddle made a purr-like noise in his throat as he tilted his head. "We all have our secrets."

"And some are able to keep them better than others," Harry replied cheekily. He rocked to the balls of his heels and stood. "I wonder," he murmured softly, noticing how the man continued to stay stiff. In all ways, the man was a bloody snake, coiled stiffly before he planned to strike dangerously fast. Harry was ready. "What other secrets do you possess, Minister?"

Crimson eyes narrowed pleasantly. "If you come to me willingly, I will be honored to share those secrets with you."

The wind played teasingly with the edge of Harry's cloak. He clutched at it, securing it more firmly around his torso. Would Riddle notice the blood staining across it? "Ah and where would the fun be in that? When I could just find out those secrets myself and keep my own?" Riddle didn't respond, he only continued to gaze keenly up at Harry. "As you waste your time going after Harry Potter, I'll be more productive. You're still a few steps behind me, Minster. Do try to keep up."

Riddle's smile darkened and true anger showed on his face. The air grew thicker and cooler as the man's magic began to act up. "You'll regret those words, child."

Harry only chuckled, pleased he could get such a reaction out of the man. "Tell me, did Erik Slore help get back your dashing looks?" Riddle blinked, caught off-guard with the offhanded comment about the Potions Master. "You may want to check up your favorite Potions Master. The Aurors should already be there."

And then Riddle acted.

The magic, wandless and nonverbal, was suffocating. It grabbed Harry around the torso with possessive glee and pulled out his wand. If the damn thing didn't have the ability to be tracked, Harry wouldn't have cared to see it leave him. Only, he couldn't let Riddle know his identity so easily, especially after taunting the man so much. He also needed it to Apparate quickly out of here.

He growled, leaping off the roof and diving off it. Riddle, taken aback at the action, wasn't able to pull the wand toward him quick enough. As Harry curled his body into a flip, he grabbed his wand in midair and Apparated away.

Riddle hissed in annoyance as Harry's laugh echoed across the alleyway.

* * *

**Long Note:** I don't know if I've already explained this in past chapters, but I tried to hint at it heavily in this chapter. Harry likes showing his true face and revealing his true name to his victims. He was cursed with weeks of torture by people he never saw and never knew. Despite the pain he went through, he hated feeling vulnerable the most. He didn't like the fact that his tormentors knew him and he didn't know them.

Giving his identity to his victims is his way of showing a semblance of remorse/mercy for them. Is it stupid of him to do so? Of course, but he would have it no other way. That's why he had considered showing himself to Zabini before he left the tavern. But that situation was a bit different than his other kills. He didn't toy with her like the others, she didn't feel pain (explosion is rather quick), and it was in public (not the intimate one-on-one that Harry experienced at the hands of his own captors).

Another quick explanation (I hate long author notes): What was up with Riddle's actions from last chapter when he watched _Custos'_ memory? Many of you wondered if he identified _Custos _as Harry. But I think one reviewer, Izzoso, was correct in her/his review. And I quote: _"I don't think he saw the way Custos walked and immediately thought of Harry, no. I think he just liked what he saw in his prey." _


	7. Chapter 7

_**Notes: **For the memory later in this chapter: I addressed the memory Severus Snape as "Snape" and the Severus Snape viewing the memory as "Severus"._

**7. Chapter Seven**

"I told you, he was wearing a hood. I didn't see anything."

Kingsley sighed in agitation, bowing his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Behind him, one of his Aurors snickered at his misfortune. Ashley Locke, the twenty-five-year-old witch who had been rescued by _Custos_, was proving to be as much as a dead-end as the whole case in general. Kingsley had allowed her two days at St. Mungos before asking her to come to the Ministry for some questions regarding the incident.

From what Auror Grey had reported earlier, Ashley had shown up at the Ministry the day of Erik Slore's murder, waving her stub-like arms. Reports say they had been cut off at the elbows by Slore, but luckily, Healers had been able to attach and grow a new set of arms, hands included.

Unfortunately, Kingsley was around too many men who had been injured in the field. There would be a noticeable distinction between her replacement arms and the rest of her body. She was currently wearing a leather jacket and wrapped bandages around her hands, successfully veiling the newly attached appendages.

Even if she had received new arms, the scars, both mental and physical, would always be there.

Still, she was a minx. The witch was sitting unhappily against her chair, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Her dark heavily-applied makeup gave the impression that she hadn't outgrown her rebel days. The smoky eyes ogled him with an air of lazy boredom and stubborn defiance. She even offered Minister Riddle an unabashed glower.

"Look, you're wasting your time," Ashley insisted. "On my way home from work, I was kidnapped by a man with a fetish for potions. I was held against my will as he cut my arms off. I watched as he stripped the skin apart to pull the veins and arteries out. After I served my purpose, I was thrown in a refrigerator with a ridiculous amount of human body parts. I knew what that meant. He wasn't through with me." Her crimson lips pursed and her tough-act shattered for just a moment as she remembered the days of her captivity.

Three nights ago, Kingsley had been absolutely flabbergasted when had been called to the potions lab in Knockturn Alley. For the first time since he started his training as an Auror, Kingsley had vomited across the floor. Though, he hadn't been the only one who had been sick after seeing Erik Slore's stockroom.

The stockroom aside, _Custos _hadn't been merciful with his kill and only added to the gore. Like Estella Zabini, it had been messy but it was far bloodier.

Blood had coated the floors, dripping down into the sewage drain. A large black cauldron sat in the center of the room, filled strategically with pieces of Slore's body. An Unspeakable had boldly reached in the cauldron and held up the Erik's severed head, revealing the eerie smile across his lips— _Custos' _signature.

And if the storage room hadn't been enough proof of Erik Slore's repulsive hobby, they had found heaps upon heaps of hand-written journals filled with potion recipes that incorporated particular parts of the human anatomy.

"Are you certain—"

She cut him off. "That night… the night Slore dragged me out of the refrigerated storage room…" Ashley paused, her voice straining. "I thought I was gonna die." Her eyes began to tear and she looked down to hide her vulnerability. "Slore dragged me toward the same table he had cut my arms off earlier. He pulled me by the scalp and I tried to fight back but it seemed pointless without any arms."

Kingsley frowned, knowing it was causing her a great amount of trauma to recollect her ordeal. But he needed to know anything he could about _Custos. _Ashley was their first witness.

"Then _Custos _came in." She sniffed, looking up, recovering. "He asked Slore if he planned on taking my heart or my liver."

"_Custos _asked that?" Kingsley inquired, bemused.

Ashley scoffed. "He was being sarcastic, obviously. But Slore answered anyway. He said he intended to take my ovaries." The girl gave a humorless laugh. "And then _Custos _kicked his arse." She shrugged. "I didn't see much. Slore threw a vial of something dusty to defend himself with. _Custos _then released me, asking me to wait twenty minutes before I went to the Ministry."

"Twenty minutes for what?" Kingsley pressed.

She blinked at him, a wry smile across her face. "He wanted twenty minutes alone with Slore. I heard you found his body cut in pieces inside his own bloody cauldron. I hope that's true, because I couldn't imagine any other death as satisfying."

"And did you?" Minister Riddle cut in, surprisingly staying silent until now. The man was leaning against the far wall, near the open door that led to the Aurors at their desks. Riddle hadn't spoken much during the questions and his sour mood from a few days ago still seemed present. "Did you wait twenty minutes before reporting to the Ministry?"

Brunette curls bounced as Ashley shook her head. "No." She looked directly at Kingsley, challenging him. "I waited thirty minutes just to make sure he was finished before I went to the Ministry."

Kingsley stared, unable to find any fault in her attitude. She had been held captive by a mad-man and had experienced things no person should ever experience. It was even hard for Kingsley to find fault in what _Custos _had done. And yet, here he was, still insistent on finding their serial killer. _Custos _could impress as many people as he liked with his 'good deeds'. But call it what you'd like, it was still murder and Kingsley would have _Custos _face the very system he believed was corrupt. He wouldn't, he couldn't stop until the serial killer was in custody.

"He saved me," she said, speaking strongly. "At first, I thought maybe he would kill me. But he put a hand on my head and I immediately felt safe with him, like all my fears and horrors were washed away. He made me feel safe."

Riddle stiffened only marginally, but Kingsley was able to catch the movement because the man had been so motionless beforehand. He raised an eyebrow at the Minister, silently asking if he had something to add, but the man ignored him. Kingsley turned his attention back on what Ashley had just said, trying to read in between the lines and see what had caught Riddle's attention.

He came up empty-handed, only understanding that Ashley wouldn't be forthcoming. She viewed _Custos _as her hero, as did many citizens of the Wizarding World. Her feelings of security and idolization would make it difficult to find evidence to convict _Custos. _

"Will you let us view your memories of the night of Erik Slore's murder?" Kingsley inquired, already knowing the answer.

"No." Ashley's bandaged hands curled ever-so slightly. "I give you my word I didn't see anything identifiable on _Custos. _I already have to relive those memories of captivity with you, I will not produce a corporeal image of them and have everyone view them."

Kingsley nodded, standing up. "Then we have nothing more to discuss, Ms. Locke. I am thankful you were able to speak with us today."

She just smirked in response, declining offers to escort her out of the Department. Kingsley watched her go, slowly walking out of the solitary room and into the Auror Department. He placed his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall to gather his bearings.

"Erik Slore was not tried or convicted of any crimes," Auror Grey suddenly spoke up from her desk. She tugged lightly on her loose ponytail before trudging up to the floating evidence board. She tapped a picture of Estella Zabini. "There weren't even speculations that Slore was doing anything illegal. With all _Custos' _other victims, they were at least brought to trial. With Zabini and Slore, we're beginning to see an unsettling realization."

The Aurors sat back in their chairs or leaned against their desks in order to give their full attention to the discussion. Kingsley gave Auror Grey a firm nod, encouraging her to continue. From the corner of his eye, he noted Minister Riddle lingering in the shadows of the room.

"_Custos _is able to pick criminals off from the street," Erin Grey summed up. "Somehow, he has the ability to pick his victims without any solid evidence of their wrongdoings."

"Not necessarily," Auror Rowan argued, standing from his chair. "Estella Zabini may not have been tried or convicted of her crimes of killing her husbands, but there was a large portion of the population who had an inkling to her crimes, you included, Auror Grey. As for Erik Slore, there may have been whispers of his doings in Knockturn Alley. We cannot automatically assume _Custos _has a knack for picking out his targets."

Auror Grey pressed her lips together. "And we cannot automatically eliminate that theory, Auror Rowan."

Sensing the tension in the room, Kingsley stepped forward to intervene before it grew too out-of-hand. "We will most definitely keep that in mind, Auror Grey. As for the time being, we can review what we've learned so far." He motioned toward the results of the magical signature that was left behind at the crime scene. "Even if there was a muffler on the wand used at Lady Zabini's murder, the Unspeakables were able to pinpoint a very small portion of the magical signature. The results gave us two wands that fit the signature, Cormac McLaggen and Robert Whistleton.

"Considering Robert Whistleton is twice as old as the late Albus Dumbledore, we can eliminate him from our scope for now. Cormac McLaggen, on the other hand, is our prime suspect. He fits the profile of _Custos. _He's in a position of power during the day, and in particular, he's a lawyer that works closely with Hermione Granger. He's intelligent, overconfident, and he has Muggle connections from his Half-blood status. He's physically fit and could have learned hand-to-hand combating skills through his ties with the Muggle world."

Kingsley motioned toward Black and Rowan. "Did you find out anything about the dragon device _Custos _used on Estella Zabini?"

Black raised his eyebrows. "No, the Dragon Keepers gave vague answers as to where an average wizard could get his hands on one. They said it is possible someone could construct one on their own. Otherwise, they aren't closely guarded at their keep. Someone could have easily slipped in and stolen one. Those devices aren't in high demand… imagine that."

Looking toward Riddle's general direction, Kingsley frowned. If they didn't have other leads, Kingsley was afraid he wouldn't be able to snatch McLaggen due to the lack of evidence. A weak magical signature at the crime scene wouldn't be nearly enough to hold up in front of the Wizengamot.

"And the wand muffler?" Kingsley asked, somewhat hesitant to hear the answer.

Grey perked up, a predatory smile stretching her lips. "I was able to locate a shop in Knockturn Alley that sold wand mufflers. The owner said wand mufflers are especially of interest to him. He told me he remembered selling one to a young man a day prior to the murder." Grey shuffled closer to Kingsley. "He said this young man came in twenty minutes past one o'clock, the same hour McLaggen leaves the Ministry to take his lunch. The owner's description of this customer resembles McLaggen, but we can't make any assumptions. So, I went to the small restaurant McLaggen takes his lunches at every day, and the young waitress verified that she remembers seeing Cormac leaving early the same day the wand muffler was purchased."

His pulse slowed before it began to speed up in adrenaline. "It's not solid proof, but it is definitely enough to bring McLaggen in for questioning. If he has nothing to hide, perhaps he will yield to Truth Serum. Otherwise, he will need to give solid alibies to his whereabouts the nights of the murders."

He then looked back at Riddle, noticing the man was barely impressed. "Minister Riddle, would you like to be present for the interrogation?" Personally, Kingsley was looking forward to the eventual exchange between Riddle and _Custos_. "McLaggen is an alpha male; certainly he would become threatened around another male of his—

"McLaggen is not an alpha male," Riddle whispered darkly. "_Custos _is an alpha." The Minister then exited the Auror Department, obviously finding that his attention was needed elsewhere.

"What crawled up his arse and died?" Sirius muttered.

**{Dreams}**

Harry sat cross-legged on top the counter, flipping through the various documents. He was currently situated in one of the abandoned houses in Crest Valley, the town that housed the infamous Tom Riddle. Actually, he wasn't too far away from Riddle's manor. In fact, it was only a three-minute walk before he would be at the ward-line. He'd been watching Tom Riddle for the past few days now. Usually in his Animagus form, sitting on one of the branches of the pine trees, he would watch the traffic go in and out of Riddle's expansive manor.

And there was a lot of it, foot traffic.

The men and women he had identified were pure-bloods or very prominent figures in society. It hadn't really surprised him. No, the thing that surprised him the most was that the traffic going _inside _hardly ever came back out. There must have been an unwarded room inside Riddle's house that guests could Floo or Disapparate from. Either that, or there was something else that Harry had yet to put his finger on.

There was also a special ward outside Riddle's manor. It denied entrance to some visitors while others walked right on through as if it were a mere inconvenience. Harry had never seen Riddle himself, but that could mean the man's wards allowed him to Apparate inside.

Still, even when there were guests outside the wards who wanted entry, Riddle was never one of the people to grant entrance. It was always a respected pure-blood or someone Harry couldn't identify. Lucius Malfoy, especially, seemed to be a regular at Riddle's manor.

No matter. When Harry had seen a redheaded Frenchmen arrive at the manor with a bundle of rolled-up scrolls, he had been immediately interested. The Frenchman had met with Lucius Malfoy at the gates and was allowed access. This had transpired for the last two days and today, Harry had acted.

Behind him, the redheaded Frenchman was tied up in a chair, his limbs weighed down by heavy blocks Harry had found around the abandoned house. The man was stirring, groaning loudly and most likely feeling the effects of Harry's earlier attack.

"Good afternoon, Didier Blanc," Harry sang cheerfully, his back turned on the waking man. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up."

The man grunted, his emotions flickering between confusion, surprise, and fright. Really, the redhead was a frail little-thing. It had been easy to gain the upper hand in a physical attack and Didier hadn't even gone for his wand before falling unconscious to the ground. Harry had taken the liberty of gathering the man's parchments and more happily, he had discovered the pouch of gold coins. According to these documents, the French were the supplier. The money was for Lucius Malfoy, agent to Tom Riddle.

Harry thought it was only fair to dig into the Minister's business. After all, Riddle had attacked his Doppelgänger in an alleyway and had used Legilimency on it. Riddle must have then _Obliviated _the Doppelgänger, as Harry saw no recollection of the incident inside his copy's mind. It was a bold and obtrusive move on Riddle's part. Harry had every right to invade the Minister's personal life.

Besides Riddle appearing years younger than his Minister persona, Harry knew there was more to the wizard. Harry had always imagined Riddle being a dirty politician underneath all those sugary smiles and phony conversations; he just never knew he would discover something _this _incriminating.

Imagine what else he'd find if he investigated someone who was free to pass Riddle's wards freely. Didier Blanc was carrying this convicting information and he was still treated like an outsider, forced to wait until Lucius Bloody Malfoy came to fetch him from the front gates.

_Tsk tsk, Riddle. Try to protect your assets more carefully. _

"Come now, Mr. Blanc, don't be shy." Harry closed the documents, twisting on his arse in order to whirl around and face the man. The small redhead was sitting prim and proper against the high-backed chair and his silk tie was being used as a blindfold. Nonetheless, Harry still wore his deep hooded cloak, not taking any chances. "You may call me _Custos _if you wish to address me." Didier stiffened and Harry laughed pleasantly, narrowing his eyes to study the man more carefully. "Do all Frenchmen know of _Custos_, Didier?" He hadn't thought _Custos _had gone past the ears of local Brits. They didn't like involving other Ministries with their problems unless absolutely necessary.

"No. I don't live in France anymore; I'm simply a representative between Britain and France." Didier then paled drastically when he replied more thoroughly than intended.

"Ah, yes, I hope you don't mind if I took the liberty of giving you something to drink while you were unconscious. Veritaserum to be exact." Harry looked down at the flask in his fist. With a leather-clad thumb, he played with the lip, musing that he needed to brew some more. It _was _particularly useful.

"You- you…" Blanc reared against his restraints and began to whip his head back and forth in attempt to throw off his tie. When he realized it was impossible to worm his way out, he slouched against the chair in defeat. "Are you going to kill me?"

Harry traced his lips with the cool steel of the flask, watching the man in delight. He had never taken a hostage before, but he realized it was almost as fun as killing the scum that walked this world. "No I'm not going to kill you," he replied coolly. "Unless, of course, you have committed an immoral crime…" Harry teased.

Blanc had a relatively clean conscious. Harry didn't get ill around him; in fact, it was almost surprising how clean the man was considering what kind of deed he was developing with Malfoy and Riddle. Then again, the man _had _admitted that he was a simple representative between France and Britain. A messenger didn't necessarily get his hands dirty.

Thinking of his victims, Harry wondered why he felt a small bit of uncertainty when it came to Slore. His other kills had been either charged with crimes or tried. They were then let go by the justice system or the charges had been dropped. His prey were always wizards or witches who had cheated the justice system and walked free, able to repeat their crimes over and over again, getting away without seeing the inside of an Azkaban cell.

Erik Slore had never been brought to the attention of the Ministry, the Aurors especially. Yet Harry had killed him anyway. He had killed a man who might have been treated fairly by the Ministry and sentenced for his crimes.

It was proof that Harry was beginning to veer off his intended purpose. He was beginning to kill men and women just for the thrill of it. Granted, if Erik hadn't been stopped, then he would have killed another innocent that night. Harry had started killing in the first place because he wanted to show the Ministry that they had done wrong in letting those men and women walk free. Just like they had let Remus Lupin walk away from his involvement with James' and Lily's death.

Who was saying Harry wouldn't slip even further and begin killing men like Didier Blanc just because they were only slightly tainted?

No, he wouldn't slip that far. He was after men and women who committed brutal acts. Most importantly he was after men and women who walked free from the life-sentencing of Azkaban.

But… what if he came across another individual like Erik Slore? Whose soul was so dark and tainted that it made Harry vomit? Surely there were other monsters out there that were just as skilled at hiding their crimes as the Potions Master. The Aurors wouldn't have a clue about him and they wouldn't have the chance to bring the criminal to the courtroom.

Perhaps Harry didn't have to kill these individuals, but leave them incapacitated and hail the Aurors? It was an idea but it was also risky. There were a lot of things that could go wrong with that plan.

"No! I swear I haven't killed anyone or—"

Harry dropped the flask on the ground, startling Blanc into silence. "I know that, fool. I told you I'm not going to kill you." He frowned, his earlier enjoyment out of this kidnapping gone. "What _I _want to know is who came up with this plan." He tapped his fingers on the stack of parchments, knowing full well the man couldn't see him. He decided to ask a direct question in order for the Truth Serum to be effective. "Who came up with the idea for Muggleborn children to be removed from their homes at a young age, Riddle or the French?"

"Riddle," Blanc muttered through tight lips. "It's a good plan."

"I didn't ask if it was a good plan or not." Harry swung his feet back and forth over the edge of the table. "Are the French funding the construction of new Wizarding orphanages?"

"Yes."

"The French _were _always pushovers," Harry snorted breathlessly through his nose. "They got a whiff of Riddle's power and decided to put their tail between their knees and go along with his ideals. I'm sure they'll follow in his footsteps and steal Muggleborn children from their homes and fake their deaths."

He pushed the documents away from him, disgusted. He knew exactly what Riddle was eventually aiming for. The Minister wanted complete separation between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. The documents claimed that Riddle would use the Trace that they put on underage wizards and witches in order to track down Muggleborn children as soon as birth. At that point, Harry had been unclear what the documents were hinting at.

"Why does Riddle want to fake the children's deaths? Why doesn't he just _Oblivate _the parents?"

Blanc groaned as he struggled to resist the Truth Serum. Eventually, he gave in. "The _Obliviate _leaves too many loose-ends. There are many networks of Muggles who know when a family is expecting a child. If we _Obliviate _only the parents, it will be suspicious to the others when the family claims they never had a child. Faking the death will give final closure."

"Smart answer, Mr. Blanc," Harry praised dryly.

"Riddle is a very intelligent man." Didier smiled smugly at Harry, even though he couldn't see him. "Why are you even pushing your nose into this business, boy?"

Harry scoffed. "Consider me a concerned investor. Besides the French, Riddle obviously plans to use our taxes to fund this. I have every right to know where my money is going." He reached over to pick up the heavy pouch of money. It was an outrageous amount. "Besides, I know many people would be interested in knowing this." Hermione would be absolutely furious. She adored her Muggle parents.

Riddle may think he thought of everything, but there were also a great deal of loose-ends in his plans. At least, the documents weren't as detailed as they should have been. From reading, Harry learned the Minister was also planning to lower the age of Hogwarts students to eight. His orphanages also seemed lavished with highly-educated and experienced handlers and constant supervision. Though, truthfully, Harry saw it as Riddle raising generations of readied soldiers, being brainwashed at a young age.

And to think, Riddle even planned on adding a few classes at Hogwarts, including the History of Pure-bloods and the most controversial topic— The Dark Arts. Obviously, he was also intending to drop Muggle Studies from the curriculum.

"You wouldn't dare tell the public," Didier warned. "This hasn't been executed yet. Minister Riddle will deny it and—"

"With his signature over everything?" Harry interrupted. "With my memories of your confessions? With a suspicious amount of currency withdrawn from the French Ministry, the same total that matches the amount in this very pouch? Oh, and let's not forget the plan to add Departments to the Ministry, including a Department that will be responsible for taking mere babies from their family and staging their deaths. Yes, Riddle can deny it all he wants, but I have the proof here. Even if he does walk away from this, his reputation will be tarnished completely."

That shut Didier up immediately. But it wasn't long before his trap was open again. "You still won't get away with it. My Lord has friends in powerful places."

Harry snickered, pleased with the man's stubborn defiance. "Is that an attempt to persuade me from leaking this to _The Prophet_? I have a whole Department of Aurors after me and they still haven't identified me. If Riddle somehow found out who I was, I would gladly sacrifice myself to bring this information public." Harry then paused, his grin fading completely. "Did you just address Riddle as _My Lord_?"

"Yes," Didier replied, either from the Veritaserum's influence or out of his own freewill.

It shouldn't have come to a surprise to Harry, and he hated to admit that it _did._ There had been a handful of powerful wizards, all capable of being Lords. Albus Dumbledore had been a Lord-level wizard, and yet, he never requested that they call him 'Lord Dumbledore'. Riddle also had that power. But from what Harry had observed from Riddle's premises these past few days, he also had the followers.

This just became a lot more intricate than before. He leaned back, bracing his arms behind him. Not only was he dealing with a web of sticky politicians if he decided to bring down Minister Riddle, but he was also dabbling in a bloody _cult. _Despite that he told Blanc that he would happily sacrifice himself to get the information public, he was only boasting.

Before knowing Riddle was a Lord with followers, he hadn't known what he really wanted to do with this information. Turning in Minister Riddle had sounded appealing, but he hadn't decided completely on that course of action. But _now… _now he wondered what the hell he got himself into.

"It isn't exactly private knowledge," Blanc smiled, thinking Harry's silence was due to fright. "If anyone approached Lord Riddle and asked to be a part of his circle, he would gladly accept them and coax out their full potential. That's why he has so many followers who would gladly die to protect him. You screwed up royally, didn't you, _Custos_?"

"No," Harry whispered, suddenly grinning widely. "Actually, I think I just stumbled across a larger and more worthwhile prey." And if he burned his hands playing with fire, then shame on him. It _did _occur to him that he should back away from all of this now and maybe he could still get away. A Lord could not be so easily underestimated. But Harry truly didn't underestimate Riddle, no, he was just _thrilled _at having such a powerful predator to challenge.

He then leaped off the table, taking the pouch of money with him.

He had a _very _good idea of how to use this money. And he would even put the donation under the name of Tom Riddle and Lucius Malfoy.

"Wait!" Didier cried, hearing the coins clink together. "You can't—"

"Send Lord Riddle my regards," Harry requested, breathing warmly into Blanc's ear.

**{& Darkness}**

"…_to express our outmost gratitude for your heavy sum. Minister Riddle, you and Lucius Malfoy have done a great service in helping the Muggles under our care at the Sheltered Hope," _Barty Crouch Junior read the letter out loud for the occupants of the room to hear.

Severus eyed the young man, displeased at the humorous grin stretch the boy's lips.

"What does the Sheltered Hope do for Muggles?" Barty wondered gleefully, looking up at a stiff and displeased Lucius Malfoy. "What great service have you done for them, Lucius?"

"I have no idea," Lucius hissed softly, his nostrils pinched with rage. His pale eyes turned slowly to their Lord. "Who—"

"Well _I_ know," Barty continued, well-aware of the tense atmosphere in the room and doing nothing to halt his goading. "The Sheltered Hope is a charity group consisting of _wizards, _Lucius. These wizards and witches are located in the Muggle world. They raise money from _our_ world and convert it to Muggle currency in order to give it freely to needy Muggles."

Lucius' face paled sourly and he deliberately rotated his body around to peer closely at Barty. "They have an organization like this?" His eyes were wide and an offended sneer lifted his lips. He then turned back to the Dark Lord, who had remained silent through Barty's provoking. "My Lord, certainly you can disband this organization. To think, Muggles taking _our _money and using it..."

"But Lucius, you and our Lord clearly donated a _hefty _sum to their organization. Wouldn't it be strange to suddenly terminate the organization after donating to them?" Barty laughed cruelly, waving the letter in Lucius' face, clearly not fazed at the blonde's rising temper.

Severus clicked his tongue, not impressed with the younger man's antics. This was a serious matter. Their Lord had depended on France's incoming gold in order to put forth his plans of building substantial orphanages and creating a new Department within the Ministry. Lucius had alerted their Lord yesterday that Didier Blanc had not arrived to their meeting. It wasn't until a newly initiated follower had taken notice of the trail that they found Didier Blanc.

Lucius had recounted the event to Severus this morning. The blond had accompanied his Lord and followed the trail of gold coins that were placed strategically outside the wards. The trail had ended at an abandoned house not far from the Riddle manor. Inside, they had found Didier Blanc, alive and tied to a chair. His pants had been soaked in his own urine and the documents were scattered across a table. The majority of the gold had been stolen, save for what small amount was laid for the trail.

Apparently the Dark Lord had been furious. Severus could only imagine, as Lord Riddle hardly ever let his temper get the best of him.

And then Minister Riddle had received the letter from the charity.

Severus turned his attention on the Dark Lord. The man was sitting motionless behind his desk, his hands cupped against his mouth. His crimson eyes followed Barty's tactics with dark indifference.

"We'll get the gold back easily enough," Lord Riddle murmured quietly, effectively silencing Barty. "_Custos _was intentionally poking fun at us. He knew we could get the gold back and he knows Lucius' and my views on Muggles."

"You believe it's truly _Custos_, then?" Lucius inquired, leaning forward and bracing the tip of his cane against the ground. He was being especially reverent toward the Dark Lord today, as he felt Didier Blanc's safety had rested with him. "I assumed _Custos _was a serial killer, not a jester. What business does he have with politics?"

Riddle's eyelids lowered and a lazy smile stretched. "I have recently taken a personal interest in _Custos_. He wants to return the favor." The Dark Lord didn't look too furious. In fact, he looked downright pleased. "He has shown that he is capable of digging up information regarding my… intentions for the Wizarding world. He will not disclose this to the public."

Severus raised his eyebrows at the self-assured tone. "Can you be so certain?" he inquired doubtfully.

Crimson eyes sparked with enjoyment. "I _can_ be certain, Severus. Despite the potential consequences, _Custos _and I are engaging in a challenge that will determine the bigger predator." He looked over their heads and into the distance. "Though, I grow displeased with the distance. It's time we close the gap and continue this behind closed doors."

"You mean reveal him?" Barty bounced at the prospect of getting to know the identity of his obsession.

"Possess him," the Dark Lord correct simply. "I will get him under my thumb before he does any more damage."

Severus leaned back against his chair, pondering the Dark Lord's intentions. There had never been anyone who had tested the Dark Lord before. Could it… could it be possible the man was obsessed with _Custos _just as much as Barty was? Though, their obsession steamed from different emotions. Barty simply idolized _Custos. _Tom Riddle, on the other hand, respected and acknowledged _Custos _as a worthy ally, an equal in wits.

Severus wasn't following the _Custos _case very closely, but he did know the serial killer was remaining a good distance from the pursuing Aurors _and _the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord found his match, it would seem. It had only taken the man decades to find it. And to imagine, the Dark Lord had enough anticipation over the prospect of having an equal that he could all but admit it out loud.

"You're considering letting him join your ranks?" Lucius inquired, outraged. "My Lord, with all due respect, he has belittled you and he has even killed a member of our own. In any case, there are many of us who follow you that he would outright refuse to accept. He _hunts _people like us."

"With the right amount of coaxing, he'll join, although the leash won't be as taunt as you'd find acceptable." The Dark Lord smiled cunningly. "I will protect you, Lucius. There is no need to fear him so much."

Barty snickered and even Severus had to smirk at Lucius' affronted expression. "I do _not _fear him, My Lord. He kills like a Muggle. Surely even I could control him."

The Dark Lord straightened his shoulders and his teasing matter grew cold. "Now you are simply being foolish, Lucius. Underestimating an enemy does not suit you. _Custos _may prefer blades or fists over wands, but that makes him the more dangerous. He is skilled at an art we have no knowledge on." He raised a taunting eyebrow. "He is a master actor and a skilled manipulator. How do you think he was able to fool and bring down Estella Zabini?"

"Do you have any suspicion of his identity?" Barty inquired, butting in before Lucius could respond.

Tom looked over at Severus before offering Barty a dismissive wave of his hand. "I will not disclose his identity until I am absolutely certain."

Barty grabbed the back of Lucius' high-back chair and leaned over in intrigue. "_You _haven't figured out his identity yet, My Lord?" At the tense expression crossing the Dark Lord's face, Barty straightened from his slouched position and gave a curt nod. "Not that I could find fault in that, My Lord. _Custos _relies on his secrecy and being anonymous. Of course he's going to protect if fiercely."

Lucius craned his neck around to offer Barty an exasperated stare. "Our Lord knows perfectly well who _Custos _is; he simply wants evidence to back up his accurate intuition." With a cool sniff, the blond turned back to the Dark Lord. "Do I have permission to take care of this Sheltered Hope charity as I see fit, My Lord?"

The Dark Lord took hold of the letter on his desk and set it aside, his head cocked. "I trust you to treat it clandestinely, Lucius. You may do whatever you think is warranted." He then looked up at the trio of wizards before him. "That is all, gentlemen."

Severus stayed seated, knowing he was called here today for something else entirely. A pensive sat on the bookcase behind the Dark Lord, reminding Severus what he would need to sacrifice. He had been asked to share a memory with his Lord. It had been a peculiar request, but after much deliberation, Severus had reluctantly agreed to share it. Memories were such private things, powerful enough to leave an individual feeling exposed.

As soon as the door closed behind Barty and Lucius, Tom turned his full attention on Severus. "I must confess to you, Severus, that I was played for a fool."

Severus pressed his hands into his lap, his shoulders stiff and his expression cool. He trusted the Dark Lord more than anyone else, and yet, he was also aware of the ulterior side of Tom Riddle.

The man liked to be diplomatic. He liked to be polite, tactful, and generous. As a politician and as a Lord, he liked to treat the people who followed him with as much reverence as a man of his caliber could. And in return, his followers idolized him for something other than his overwhelming magic. They were loyal to a fault and they would do anything to impress and protect their Lord.

Yet, Severus knew there were more layers to Tom Riddle. The man was extremely dangerous and cruel. There had yet to be a situation where the true side of the Dark Lord was forced to come out, but Severus knew it was there, brimming beneath the surface. At times, he could see past the carefully crafted expression and see a lethal predator watching his loyal subjects with wicked delight.

Knowing what really lied beneath made Severus hesitant about _Custos _and the Dark Lord becoming closer. For the most part, Tom Riddle was given everything. Rarely, the Dark Lord would work hard to get what he wanted, but other times, most the time, he used his power and charm to get what he desired. People were intimated by Tom Riddle, they were awed and they were star-struck. They bent over backward to appease the man and the Dark Lord took it greedily.

But then there was _Custos_. The serial killer was directly challenging the Dark Lord; he was directly challenging the Minister and his Ministry. It was obvious he was not as star-struck as the majority of the population, most likely the contrary. Perhaps that was why Tom was intent on possessing _Custos_, but it also presented a quandary. If the Dark Lord claimed he was playing a game to see who the bigger predator was, Severus could only imagine _Custos _would never submit like the Dark Lord expected him to.

And if _Custos _didn't give the Dark Lord what he wanted, then Tom was forced with two decisions. He could either kill _Custos, _like a spoiled child who couldn't get his favorite toy, or he could pursue further and try to meet _Custos _half-way.

The end result would be intriguing. And Severus intended to see how the Dark Lord maneuvered when he was faced with a stubborn obstacle.

"I am chasing my tail with the identity of _Custos_, just how he intended it," Riddle continued, ignorant to Severus' inner-thinking. "I have constantly doubted my intuition to the point of beginning to look for other suspects. Only, I finally stumbled across something that may determine the outcome of this guessing game."

"Oh?" Severus murmured, interested, but knowing the Dark Lord didn't truly want him to offer his input.

Riddle's smile curled. "One of the only witnesses who interacted with _Custos _claimed she suddenly felt safe with him, as if all her fears were erased and replaced by trust. And then there is the predicament with _Custos_' signature. All but one of his victims died with a smile on their face, as if they _enjoyed _the kill." The Dark Lord peered at Severus. "What can possibly manipulate emotions so easily, Severus?"

It took a moment, but Severus stiffened as he pieced together the conundrum. This was why the Dark Lord wanted _this_ particular memory. "That is virtually impossible," Severus spat, his lip curling. "Harry Potter is not _Custos._"

Riddle tsked at the show of such naked disgust. "That wasn't what I asked you, Severus. I'll ask again. What, or who, can possibly manipulate emotions so easily?"

Onyx eyes glimmered unhappily. "A powerful Empath," he growled out, "One that has the mature power to manipulate one's emotions. There are but a few Empaths and the majority of them can only feel basic emotions and with much practice, they would also be able to leak weak waves of manipulated sensations. For _Custos _to be able to penetrate past his victims' obvious agony and fool them to think they're enjoying it, he must be powerful."

"Exactly," the Dark Lord praised, a coy smile on his lips. "I asked you if Harry Potter was an Empath. You confirmed that he was."

"He is," Severus drawled in agreement. "But Harry Potter is… he is not capable of parading two lives with such feat. He is not—"

"Slytherin?" the Dark Lord finished, reaching behind him and gathering the pensive. "We can discuss Harry's intellect after we view the memory. From what you described, this was not only the point where you learned his Empathy had increased in potency but this was also his breaking point." He stood up, pushing the pensive closer between the two. Severus refused to move. "Come now, Severus, don't be so dour. You will accompany me in this memory."

Severus stared at the pensive. It was an extremely potent memory for him. The idea of viewing it brought back the conflicting emotions he had buried under his Occlumency barriers. He disliked Harry Potter, and yet, this memory was painful for Severus to relive. It was a period of losses, of hopelessness. Dumbledore had just recently passed away and the Potters had been killed.

Most importantly, Lily had been…

And her proud son had been left in shambles.

His gaze turned to the side of the office, surveying the large portrait of Merope. The witch watched him back, her gaze soft and understanding. She was silent, as she always was in the company of wizards other than her son. "I agreed to show you this memory," Severus began quietly, turning back to look at the patient Lord. "I trust that you will not violate it or use it against either Potter or myself."

Tom studied him seriously, before his crimson eyes softened similar to his mother's, a rare act indeed. "I give you my word, Severus."

Severus grimaced as he leaned forward, pressing his face against the surface of the pensive. The Dark Lord followed a moment later.

"_You've finally decided to show up," Black snipped as soon as he saw Snape approach down the corridor. Black was standing outside the door to Potter's hospital room and a few redheaded Weasleys were sleeping on a conjured couch with a silent but a conscious Granger sitting at the edge. _

"_Not everyone can drop their work for a Potter, Black," Snape hissed. "Stand aside, I don't need to waste anymore of my time here than necessary." _

_Severus and the Dark Lord appeared in the hallways of St. Mungos, directly next to the quarrelling Black and Snape. It wouldn't be long before he was once again in that dark room, facing one of his past regrets. "Potter asked for my presence here," Severus explained quietly to his Lord as Black began snarling in anger. "Black was being especially sour that day. It was the first time Potter was conscious since the ordeal with his parents. The boy refused to let anyone inside his room. Imagine Black's surprise when Potter declined to speak to anyone but me." _

"_I thought you and the boy were at odds," the Dark Lord murmured, finding little to appreciate in the memory as Snape and Black continued the cutting insults. "What could possibly fuel him to seek you out at a time like this?"_

"_We are, we were at odds," Severus confirmed, tilting his head in invitation as Snape finally bypassed Black and stepped in the room. "The rest will answer your questions." He followed the Dark Lord as they entered the dark room, the door closing behind them. _

_The hospital room was usually magically altered to fit a current patient's mood and needs. There were multiple of times Severus had been in hospitals, but he couldn't remember a time when the staff allowed a room to be so dark, especially for a recovering patient who had gone through what Potter had. There was a small light at the bedside table and it omitted a warm glow. Yet, Severus still needed to adjust his eyes to the dark to grimly nod at the empty bed._

_Snape came to a halt next to the empty bed, his sneer deepening. He gave a sniff, no doubt smelling the minty-scent of the monitoring spells the hospital staff placed on their patients. It was evidence that Potter was still in the room. "Is the bed not quite to your tastes, Potter?" Snape searched the room when silence met his prod. "Normally a patient prefers the lights after an accident such as yours. I suppose you're always a special exception." _

"_You label it as an _accident_? I doubt even a smart man like yourself, Professor, knows the extent of what truly happened." The voice that answered was quiet, hoarse. "I prefer the darkness when I'm awake, but I require the lights on when I sleep. You're not so far off." _

_Snape whirled around, immediately spying the small figure crouched in the corner of the hospital room. Severus, however, was slower to turn. He reluctantly turned his attention on the broken figure in the corner of the room. The boy's appearance was still as startling as the first time he had seen it. _

_The first thing he had been aware of was the skin, startlingly pale and gaunt. There were healing abrasions across his face and there were deep and dark circles underneath his wide, glazed eyes. Without the glasses, without the arrogance, Snape and Severus looked into Lily. The boy's hair was long and it covered the majority of his face with limp and lifeless strands. _

_Snape, taken aback at the sight, did his best as he schooled his features into stern impassiveness. "I am sorry for your loss," he said, his tone practiced and controlled, yet trying to sound sincere. _

"_No you're not," Potter responded. "You may be sorry to hear of my mother's death, but you aren't sorry for me or my father. I didn't ask you here for false consolations, sir, that's Sirius' job." _

"_You do not wear pity well, Potter," Snape barked, upset at the mention of Lily. "Why did you ask me here then? Get to the point and save me the melodramatic croons."_

_Potter scoffed softly, placing his forehead against his drawn knees. For a moment, he was so still, so quiet, Snape had thought he had fallen asleep. But Severus knew better. "You're a Master Legilimens. You're an endless void," the boy breathed. It was then when Snape noticed the slight wheezing in the boy's lungs when he took a breath. "You're comfortable to be around, I can't sense you like I can the others. They're even outside the room, but I can still feel them." _

"_Potter—_

"_My Empathy," Potter interjected, sensing Snape's impatience. "It's… grown. It's gotten stronger. I trust you, sir. I wanted to ask if you could take a blood sample and look for any discrepancies." _

_Snape stared at the folded figure in the corner. "It is reported that Empaths can advance their ability if they experience a particular potent event. The stronger the emotions they experience, the stronger they become. You increase in sensing others—"_

"_No!" Potter interrupted fiercely. He suddenly reared his head up and he stared unseeingly at Snape. "It's not just sensing. I can sense people more deeply now. I can almost taste them. I can taste how tainted they are, I can pinpoint every emotion I'm getting from them. And it's harder for me to control my own emotions as I transfer mine to them." _

"_I will take a sample of your blood then, Potter," Snape replied crisply. "Is that all?" _

_The atmosphere darkened and became heavy. Severus stiffened, knowing what was to come. From the corner of his eye, he was mindful of the watchful Dark Lord. The man had been incredibly shielded since they entered the room, his crimson eyes absorbing everything that transpired between the two. _

"_Teach me Occlumency," the boy whispered hoarsely. _

_Severus pressed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his counterpart sneered. "Is that a request or a demand, Potter? Either way, I am declining." He made his way toward the door to the hospital room. "I wish you a speedy recovery." _

"_Please," Potter choked out. It stopped Snape short. Suddenly, Potter wheezed and began standing up. Standing, the boy looked no older than a Fifth Year at Hogwarts. He was frail, weak, and trembling. Both his hands were bandaged and his leg was in a support cast. He wore no shoes or socks and the fiery-red flesh alerted the occupants of the room that new skin was growing on his feet. _

_The boy had been tortured. Judging from the wheezing in the boy's lungs, it was clear that the torture wasn't just superficial. And judging from the haunted and eerie look in those green eyes, the torture also extended mentally. _

"_I'm sorry for what happened last time you tried to teach me Occlumency. I had no right to look in your pensive. But I need this now," the boy pleaded._

"_You intentionally invaded my privacy. You think I could trust you with such intimacy again?"_

"_I was fifteen," Potter argued, taking a shuffle closer to Snape. "Dumbledore forced me to work with you in order to shield my Empathy. At the time, I didn't think I needed it, I didn't understand what you sacrificed in agreeing to teach me." _

_Snape gave him a dark look. "The answer is still no, Potter." _

"_You don't know what it's like!" Potter cried as Snape reached for the doorknob. Severus forced himself to keep his eyes on Potter, watching as the fragile frame began to tremble more fiercely and the eyes begin to tear. "You loved her." _

_Snape turned quickly to stare at Potter through angry onyx eyes. "Don't," he ordered sharply. _

_Potter shook his head, his bony shoulders hunching forward. There was almost a desperate panic in his eyes as he leaned closer to Snape. "Could you possibly imagine watching the woman you loved being tortured? Could you imagine hearing her screams and pleading for days on end?" Potter began breathing heavily as his face contorted in turmoil. "But that's not even the worse of it. They raped her." _

_Snape and Severus both turned pale, the cruel words echoing in his head as fiercely as they had the first time. _

"_I felt every last minute of it," Potter wheezed, giving a choked sob as he clutched the roots of his hair. "They found out I was an Empath and they did it intentionally. I felt her humiliation, her fear, her boundless hate and devastation." He doubled over. "I can't get it out of my head! I can't wash them off me!"_

_Snape stumbled away from the boy, opening the door and refusing to turn around. _

"**Coward**_!" Potter screamed hoarsely after him, his breathless and strangled sobs echoing through the memory even as it began to dissolve. _

Severus was thrown back in his chair, his stomach tight with anxiety and unease. He stared at the pensive, the memory winking at him mockingly before swimming away in the depths of the pensive, surrounded by other regrets, other mistakes. He refused to meet the eyes of the Dark Lord.

Finally, after a pregnant silence, the man spoke up. "The boy was at his breaking point, pleading to a Master Legilimens to teach him to construct a simple Occlumency barrier. And yet, you refused to teach him. Surely he wasn't that incompetent."

"Don't judge me," Severus replied harshly. "I live every day regretting walking away from him."

"I'm not judging you, Severus," the man replied quietly. "I, of all people, do not have a right to judge. I just want to know why." The Dark Lord took Severus' silence before continuing. "It's obvious your personal feelings for Harry got in your way of teaching him. You always held a remarkable hate for his father. And from what I just observed, you still harbored feelings of love for his mother."

Severus stiffened as he finally looked up at the Dark Lord. His protests about bringing up his love for Lily died on his tongue. Those crimson eyes were piercing through him, rendering him vulnerable and bringing him back to those days before he learned Occlumency. "Our subconscious hate for each other made it impossible to link our minds fully together. He claimed he trusted me, but his subconscious felt differently. My hate for his father and for his very existence made it impossible on my end."

"And yet, you couldn't have even pushed that hatred aside, even if his parents had died? He was reaching out to you, Severus. Surely you could have taken him in as your student."

His Lord was taunting him, mocking him. They both knew exactly _why _Severus refused to teach Potter. "What do you want me to say, My Lord?" Severus asked bitterly, his lip curling. "That I was a coward? That I completely turned my back on a broken boy because I didn't want to have access to Lily's last days of torment?" Severus breathed deeply, unfazed and meeting the Dark Lord's impassive stare. "I didn't want to see her suffering. And I didn't want _Potter _to see my vulnerability. He is much like his father."

"Was," the Dark Lord corrected. "The Harry Potter you knew is no longer that broken boy, but a cold and determined man." Tom ran a careful hand along his jaw in contemplation. "It's truly amazing," he breathed, "How one small event can change the course of the future, how one event can completely alter a man's soul." He then turned back to consider Severus. "There are hardly any records regarding the deaths of Lily and James Potter. What do you know of it?"

Severus looked away. "All I know is that they were tortured, Harry included. The only man Potter was able to identify was Remus Lupin. They held the trail and Lupin walked away."

"You must have _some _idea who was after the Potters," the Dark Lord pressed, his tone cooling. "Do not lie to me, Severus. Torture in the Wizarding world is no random act."

He shook his head, meeting the Dark Lord's eyes squarely. "Truthfully, I have no idea who targeted the Potters. Don't you think that if I had known who was behind it, that they would be dead already?"

The Dark Lord suddenly leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he mulled something over. "Harry doesn't know who his attackers were," he murmured. A cruel smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "I may have just found the necessary bait to keep him at my side."

"_If _he truly is _Custos_," Severus intercepted. "Potter—"

"Has changed," Tom hissed softly. "The boy you once knew is no longer, Severus." The Dark Lord tapped his fingers together, still piecing something together. "I have strong evidence that links _Custos _and Harry together as one entity, but I am also hesitant to be certain of that fact."

Severus remained silent, knowing when to intervene and when to let the Dark Lord mull.

Just minutes later, the Dark Lord straightened and a predatory glint lightened his eyes. "I think I may have found a way to get _Custos _in our possession_."_

* * *

**Note:** Whew, long, long chapter. Harry is lucky so far, but when will the luck start tilting in the Dark Lord's favor? For those of you who asked why Harry doesn't get 'sick' around Riddle: Remember I said Riddle was a Master Legilimens? Like Dumbledore and Snape, Riddle is a 'comfortable' void to Harry. He can't sense the Dark Lord like he can with the others.

I also know the orphanage/Muggleborn situation might have been done before. However, it's just _one_ of the things I can see Tom Riddle doing if he was in power.

Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**8. Chapter Eight**

____**1996**____

"_Will you?" the man breathed. His eyes were abnormally bright as he admired the tall and lithe figure standing across from him. Compared to all the others, compared to all the other Lord-leveled wizards, this one carried himself with an air of powerful refinement. But no one could compare to Gellert, sweet Gellert. "Will you become… Gellert Grindelwald and continue down the path where he left off? Will you allow me to participate in the war and help you rebuild this world?" He too, was powerful. Regrettably, he was not as influential as Tom Riddle._

_Riddle smiled thinly as he walked out from behind his desk. With spider-like fingers, he withdrew a velvet pouch of gold coins and offered it to the man standing before him. "If that is who you wish to compare me to, than yes. I shall become Gellert and his ideals. And you will be a powerful ally to me." _

_The white-haired man bowed lowly at the waist. Perhaps this time, Tom Riddle would succeed where the others had failed. "Then it will be done, My Lord, as quickly as I can make it happen." _

_With sadistic amusement, Tom watched the man leave his study, his eyes narrowing in both disgust and contemplation. "Be sure to do just that, Mr. Regbo," he whispered after the wizard. _

"_Why do you fool him so, Tom?" A feminine voice inquired from behind him. Thin arms wrapped around Tom's torso and a cheek was placed against his broad shoulder. "What could possible make you boast about becoming that cruel and psychotic Dark Lord?" She tightened her hold on him. "You are a majestic Dark Lord, Tom, a regal and powerful wizard capable of wonderful things. My, you've already accomplished so much." _

_He turned to look over his shoulder at the elderly woman. "Don't worry, mother. You taught me well. I only lull him to such false hopes because he has something that I want." Deep brown eyes hardened as they turned back to consider the closed door. "He is blinded by admiration for the ghost of Grindelwald's regime. Once I get what I want, he is easily discarded." _

"_Now, now, what have I told you about an unhealthy supply of arrogance? Easily discarded, you say. But you may be underestimating him greatly, my son."_

**{Dreams}**

Harry stumbled ungracefully to the door, hitting his foot on the kitchen stool on the way there. He cursed breathlessly, rubbing a palm against his face before peering into the peephole. It was nine o'clock in the morning, on a _weekday. _People knew he was at the Ministry working, so why the hell was someone here, knocking his door down?

As he glanced outside, a prominent grimace adorned his features as he saw his _therapist _of all people.

"Harry," the man called, using his fist to pound against the door. "I know you're in there. I have a nose of a hound."

Harry ducked away from the door, his eyes narrowed. His Doppelgänger was most likely sipping a warm cup of tea in his office at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. His therapist knew that, he had to. If Harry opened the door to let him inside, he risked the chance of exposing the fact two Harry Potters were roaming Britain. Then again, if the therapist continued to be stubborn and slam his fist against his door, he may draw attention.

Doubtless, the damage was already done if there _were_ surveillance on his flat. "Damn it," Harry hissed, yanking the door open and remaining hidden from any prying eyes outside. "Get in."

The therapist smiled and shuffled inside with his cane in the lead. Dr. William Stratton should have been an elderly man on all accounts. He mimicked the late Albus Dumbledore in his sometimes cheery dispositions, he carried a magical cane, and he wore dark glasses to cover his eyes. He claimed he wasn't entirely blind, but enough to warrant the need of a cane. His condition was hereditary and the Healers tried to cure him, but they had only made the situation worse by tampering with his eyes.

Instead of being in the later stages of his life, William appeared no older than thirty. Elbow-length tawny hair was always pulled back in a low pony and he dressed in suit vests and equally nice slacks. His lips were thin and if they weren't pulled back in an extremely galling smile, they were pressed together in contemplation.

"Mr. Potter," William greeted warmly, his cane easily preventing a collision with Harry's looming figure. The cane then tapped Harry's foot and slid a bit up his leg like that of an eager puppy. William tsked at it and turned a wide grin in Harry's direction. "Brilliant weather out today, isn't it?"

Harry's lashes lowered as he eyed the heavy clouds and the light snowflakes. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, shutting the door behind the therapist.

"Yes, a cup of tea would do wonders right now, thank you," William responded lightly, making his way blindly over to the sitting area.

He watched the doctor sit on the loveseat, apparently not the least bit ashamed at his invasion. "I'm fresh out," Harry grumbled, walking cautiously over to the motionless man. He stared into the dark lenses, finding that the glasses annoyed him now more than they had ever before. He liked to see a man's eyes, especially when he felt as if he needed control over a situation. "What are you doing here?" he repeated pointedly.

There was one thing he was always intrigued about when it came to Dr. Stratton. The man's emotions never really piqued. In all ways, William had a mild flatline when it came to his feelings. He was always feeling… peaceful, pensive, and mildly content. There were some times when he felt pity and concern, and an occasional rush of guilt and anger. But all those changes of mood were somehow muffled and not as noticeable as it was for other people.

As far as purity went, William was certainly tainted, but not particularly tainted that Harry felt ill or on-guard around. The flatline emotions could be due to a weak Occlumency barrier, but certainly not strong enough as a Master Legilimens' barrier.

William pressed his back against the couch, crossing his hands together over his cane. "I have missed you."

Harry had to pause at the sudden admittance. "I saw you just yesterday," he argued. His Doppelgänger had gone to his therapy session yesterday, the last one for this month. "Surely you—"

"But that wasn't you, now was it?" William countered, his smile beginning to strain. "Do you mind telling me why you feel obligated to have a Doppelgänger parade around as Harry Potter?"

"How did you know?" Harry was truly curious, wondering if there was a defect with his Doppelgänger. His therapist didn't know him as well as his friends did, but somehow, he had been the first to confront Harry about it. Oddly enough, he didn't feel threatened. Dr. Stratton couldn't go to the Aurors with this information because of the doctor and patient confidentiality. There were ways to explain the Doppelgänger's existence to the man without hinting that it was created for anything _Custos_-related. Besides, if there was a defect with his Doppelgänger, he could improve on it before anyone else grew suspicious.

"I told you, I have a good nose," Dr. Stratton mused, tapping his cane deliberately. "My cane didn't recognize you when you came in. I also received a visit from a concerned observer. They have seen the Doppelgänger for what it is and believed I could be the one to help you."

Harry looked at the man sharply. "Oh? And who would that be?" he murmured, his mind racing. Had Riddle actually—

"Hermione Granger." Dr. Stratton shifted, looking back and forth inside the flat with blind admiration. "Tea, Mr. Potter. Surely you have some tea? Earl Grey? I know it's your favorite," he sang, sniffing the air as if he could scent the Earl Grey from his position on the couch.

Unimpressed, Harry crossed his arms, refusing to sit. "I told you, I'm fresh out." Merlin, the man had a one-tracked mind. "Hermione came to you?" It didn't surprise him; in fact, he had been expecting her to approach him any day now. When looking into his Doppelgänger's memories for the days' events, Hermione had never showed signs of treating the Doppelgänger with any less enthusiasm as she had since day one.

He could only assume she had known _then_. He wondered if she had decided to wait for Harry to make a change and choose for himself to get rid of the Doppelgänger. When weeks had gone by, and the Doppelgänger remained, she most likely decided to intervene. Why she didn't come directly to him, Harry didn't know. Though, he had his suspicions that she was afraid of him. If that were the case though, she wouldn't have mentioned anything about the Doppelgänger.

William frowned. "Harry, please sit." When Harry made no move to sit, the therapist sighed, patting the cushion next to him. "We need to discuss this."

"We can discuss it when I have a session scheduled, Dr. Stratton. Until then, I am gratified that you care enough to check up on me."

The frustration was strong from William as he leaned forward, his hands braced against his cane. He stared at Harry, his lips pursed. "Why did you create a Doppelgänger, Harry? I had thought we were making progress in your sessions." He paused and tilted his head marginally. "Has it all been an act, this whole time?"

It was obvious the man wasn't going anywhere until he got answers. Harry settled on the couch across from the therapist, internally debating on how to proceed. Of course it had always been an act when he visited Dr. Stratton. He let enough grief slip past his mask and he gave back a reasonable amount of respect and admittance that he'd been listening. "It hasn't been an act," Harry replied carefully. "I've just been going through a rough patch is all."

William's face contorted into unease. "Then why don't we go back to meeting once a week?"

"I can't," Harry argued, "I'm fine, really." The thought of taking a step backward in his _healing _process irked him. He had his own therapy, couldn't they understand that? "I created a Doppelgänger out of desperation. I kind of enjoyed not having to work or interact with people for a bit."

"Do you consider that healthy, Harry?" Stratton reasoned. "To me, this means that you're hiding yourself away, withdrawing from reality. The isolation you're keeping yourself in could have a negative impact on your mental state. Don't you see that there are many people around you that have reached out to help you? The Weasleys, Miss Granger, and your godfather have all expressed a desire to see you better. They would do anything to assist you, me included."

Harry quickly changed tactics. Giving into what they wanted was all they needed to hear. Arguing would get nowhere and it would also cause unwanted attention. No one would ever understand how he felt. He nodded carefully. "I know that," he said, pitching his voice higher. "I just tend to have these episodes every once and awhile."

William stared at him from behind his dark lenses, a prominent frown to his lips as he somehow saw straight through Harry. "Creating a Doppelgänger is not a simple _episode_, Harry."

Green eyes flashed coldly. "Am I required to have these sessions with you, Dr. Stratton?"

Silence.

"It has been an act all along," the man breathed. Surprise morphed into panic. "This… this hate cannot be good for you—"

"And neither can these sessions." Harry stood up, walking to the door. "I had been wanting to part ways with you, Dr. Stratton, but I suppose now is a good enough time as any. Thank you for all that you've preached to me. I assume the confidentiality between patient and therapist is still intact?"

William, still sitting, shook his head in disavowal. "You haven't seen the last of me, Harry." He pushed off from his cane and stood. With grace Harry had never seen on him before, William approached the door without the aid of the cane. He stopped directly in front of Harry, using his height for the first time to his advantage. "You will learn to forgive, if it's the last thing I do."

"Forgive?" Harry repeated, feeling as if he were doused with icy water. "Forgive… forgive them?" he whispered. His vision clouded and he held himself stiffly. "There is _no _redemption for what they have done. Get out."

Stratton stared down at Harry before he sighed, backing away. Without another word, the therapist exited the flat, his step a lot more fluid than Harry had ever seen it before.

Slamming the door shut, Harry leaned against it, his eyes narrowed. William Stratton was not who he said he was. Like Harry had done throughout their sessions, Stratton had also masked his true self. There was something off about that man.

And Harry was also off on his game today.

He groaned loudly, tipping back his neck and pressing his hands against his face. He had fooled the man for so long, how had it crumbled so easily today? His Doppelgänger was no longer safe, either. Not everyone was magically bound by patient and doctor confidentiality. If they found out Harry had a Doppelgänger, questions would arise and everything he had worked so hard to conceal would unravel completely.

Originally, he had created the Doppelgänger to throw Riddle of his trail. He had intended for the Minister to read the Doppelgänger's mind and come up empty-handed. He would then realize Harry was not _Custos _and look elsewhere.

Since those many days ago, Riddle had kept his extreme distance. The man hadn't even seemed ruffled over the fact that _Custos _had unveiled his plans for the future Muggleborns and donated his gold to a charity. The Minister, or rather, the Dark Lord was laying down low. It was a bit disappointing, but it could also be a good sign. Riddle had his attention elsewhere.

But Harry had known this for a solid week already. So why hadn't he taken the place of his Doppelgänger now that its purpose was fulfilled? If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he was truly and utterly afraid. Living in the shadows, without his mask and without constant worries, had been glorious. Stepping back into the life of Harry Potter seemed frightening, almost impossible.

"Damn it," Harry hissed, throwing his fists behind him and into the door.

His upper lip began twitching and his fingers soon followed suit. He rolled his neck, trying to push back his anxiety. It was his own bloody fault that he had grown too comfortable in the life of _Custos. _

Suddenly, he realized he was dangerously close of creating two separate personalities. He was beginning to associate _Custos _and Harry Potter as two different people, not as the same person they were meant to be. A mental disorder that extended _that _outrageously was not something he wanted to experience. He already had enough problems as it was. Yes, he could have masks, but he never wanted to lose the identity of Harry Potter when he was parading around as _Custos. _If that happened, _Custos _would lose a purpose, he would lose morals. If he lost his _Custos _identity as Harry Potter, he would lose his sanity and he would leave himself vulnerable.

No, he wouldn't let that happened. The best way to make sure he stayed stable was to go back and play Harry Potter once again.

Though, before he jumped, he wanted one more night of worry-free pursuing.

**{& Darkness}**

Walden Macnair had been on his radar for the past week. The man worked at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, an executioner for the Beast Division to be specific. A week ago, the _Prophet _made a big deal about Macnair being under suspicion of abusing his execution rights. It was reported that he had been charged with the deaths of three witches he had previously done business with.

Just hours later, the charges had been dropped and Macnair had walked.

Three nights ago, Harry had scoped out Macnair and had instantly been overwhelmed by the man's taint. There was something the man was certainly guilty of, but Harry needed evidence and proof of his crimes before he acted further.

Ever since the killing of Erik Slore, Harry had reigned in more of his primitive tendencies and had taken a step back. He decided to go back to pursing the men and women who walked away from the Ministry scotch free instead of hunting them off the streets. It wasn't that he thought the men and women on the streets should remain untouchable, Harry just didn't know what to do with them just yet. If he decided to hail the Aurors and attract their attention to these tainted souls, he couldn't be sure he would be able to keep a solid hold on the situation.

It needed more devising. He _would_ come up with a way to put the spotlight on the men who remained in the shadows, committing their brutal acts. And when the Ministry got a hold of them and failed to convict them, then Harry would be free to hunt them.

Like Walden Macnair. The man was of old blood. Most likely his _Lord _was able to pull strings at the Ministry and release him. Again, the justice system had failed to do their job.

Harry scoffed as he morphed back into his human form and lightly trekked outside the perimeter of Macnair's home. The pure-blood had been secluded inside his house for the past few days, refusing to exit. It frustrated Harry as he was forced to roam the perimeter. The man had a ward around his house and Harry was still trying to consider how to crack it. Breaking wards weren't his specialty, but he had been researching it during the day when his Doppelgänger was at work.

Thinking of the Doppelgänger turned his musings on Stratton. The man was a bloody lunatic. _"You will learn to forgive, if it's the last thing I do." _Rubbish. If there was one thing Harry refused to consider, it was forgiving his captors. How could the therapist actually believe forgiveness was possible?

He took a deep breath, clearing his mind on the task at hand. His boots never made a sound as he exited the woods surrounding Macnair's home. The darkness was his ally as it cloaked his movements from any potential onlookers. He crouched next to the base of a tree, slipping his wand down the holster on his arm and into his hand. There were past victims who had wards around their homes and sometimes Harry was able to break those using creative means. He could interact with his victim face to face and manipulate their emotions in order for them to trust him. Other times he could lure them out of their home by simple bait.

Macnair was different. The man was stubbornly staying inside his house. From his position, Harry could see a few lights on inside the manor. Tonight, he would try to play with the wards and find a weak point. If he couldn't succeed in that, he would go back and scheme up a way to lure Macnair out of his house. After which, he would need control the man's emotions in order to get closer to Walden and obtain the proof he was looking for.

Pressing his wand to the ground, Harry murmured the Latin incantation that would make the wards visible only to his eyes. "_Promptus._" The dome-like ward running around Macnair's house was a liquid gold, the small weaves of magic each distinguishable at the base.

Though, Harry blinked as he caught sight of another ward. This one was a deep and fiery crimson. Unfortunately, it wasn't surrounding Macnair's home but the area around the woods, encircling Harry's sitting form.

_It hadn't been there before! _

His pulse raced as he eyed the new ward from the corner of his eye, refusing to let it outwardly affect him. It was strategically placed around the woods and it extended past Harry's peripheral vision. Someone was watching him and someone had laid a perfect trap. He breathed slowly through his mouth. He felt vulnerable. _He _was no longer the hunter, but the target. There was nowhere for him to turn. He couldn't cross the threshold into Macnair's wards and he was currently sitting in a set of wards that would make it impossible for him to Disapparate.

A trap this elaborate didn't come from the Ministry, or rather the Aurors. No, Riddle's scent was all over this. The question was, what would the man do to Harry once he captured him? _If _he captured him.

"Throw out a bloody carcass and the predator always comes running," a cool voice sneered behind him. "Such a primitive man you are… to fall for such tactics." A wand pressed firmly against the back of Harry's hooded head.

Lucius Bloody Malfoy.

Harry frowned at Macnair's home, listening as light footsteps emerged from the woods behind him. "Tell me, if an attractive Muggle woman was bound and lying nude, would you come running into the trap just as quickly?" Fucking ponce. As Malfoy pressed the wand deeper into his skull, Harry felt the comfortable weight of his magical dagger at his ankle. "You always were an arrogant bastard, Malfoy."

With lightening quick reflexes, he slid his dagger from his boot and whirled around, slicing Malfoy's wand in half. The man gave a strangled cry, crying even louder as Harry thrust the butt of his palm into his nose. The blond went down in pain, blood pouring thickly from his broken nose. His eyes swelled and watered. If Harry would have hit him any harder, he could have caused forced trauma to the brain that triggered fatal hemorrhaging. Malfoy should be thankful Harry had enough self-control to hold back.

Harry leaped to the balls of his feet and ducked below a spell headed in his direction. As he rolled across the ground in a tight summersault, he quickly counted the number of assailants. There were five visible wizards including a fallen Lucius Malfoy.

He lunged at the nearest and the smallest figure. He vaguely identified the man as a Barty Crouch Junior. The man's eyes were wide, deranged, and utterly hysterical as they watched Harry close in. He cast a quick stunner, intentionally aiming at Harry's feet. With spells coming from the other three at his left, Harry curled his body forward, pressed his hands into the ground and did a tight flip toward Crouch.

As his body was in mid-flip, the three spells collided underneath his head, appearing bright as lasers in the dusk. Harry grinned foolishly as he executed a tight flip, something he had been having trouble accomplishing faultlessly. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he pivoted his body around and sent a roundhouse kick at Crouch, aiming for the specific spot at the man's neck. His foot chopped the carotid artery, applying the right amount of pressure to send the wizard collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

His hood fell, leaving his features exposed. He didn't have time to adjust it, for a spell caught him across the chest, sending him stumbling a good foot away. His lungs were _burning. _Harry collapsed to the ground, gasping and wheezing, his body twitching and curling back and forth. It wasn't the _Cruciatus_, but it was something just as Dark in nature.

He refused to cry out, having felt much worse than this before. Vibrant green eyes narrowed into slits as a heavy-set man stepped into his line of sight. The wizard looked down at him, chuckling darkly. "You may have gotten a few lucky shots in, but a Muggle fighter will always fall to magic."

"Perhaps," Harry murmured, tossing his dagger at the tainted man.

As predicted, the brute-like man was able to dodge the flying dagger before straightening. "You missed! You bloody missed! I was but a foot away." he tipped back his neck and laughed cruelly. With a renowned sense of merriment he aimed his wand at Harry.

"Maybe not," Harry cooed slyly before whistling shrilly. The dagger paused in midair and turned back around at Harry's call, racing toward them with breakneck speed.

The wizard frowned in confusion before he suddenly grunted in pain as the dagger embedded into his shoulder blade. At his moment of distraction, Harry jumped to his feet, grabbing the beefy wrist with a renowned sense of strength and forcing the man's wand to press against his eyeball. He chuckled sinisterly, stabbing it in the man's eye, hearing the squelching sound over the man's shriek.

"_Stupefy,_" Harry whispered, using the man's wand to stun him. He grinned as the body crumbled to the ground at his feet.

Sidestepping the unconscious man, his eyes locked on the last two standing. One of the wizards stayed motionless in the background. Harry refused to give the man his attention just yet and turned his gaze on the auburn-haired wizard. The man had his wand raised, pointing it directly at smirking Harry.

"What are you waiting for, Avery?" Malfoy demanded, his voice no longer pristine, but muffled from his broken nose.

This… Avery was incredibly tainted. Harry's smile strained as he kept eye-contact with the man. Standing confidently next to the unconscious body of his last attacker, Harry fed emotions of extreme fear and terror to the wizard standing opposite of him. Avery's unprotected mind quickly looped with Harry's Empath ability and began to believe he was experiencing something truly horrific. The man's blue eyes widened comically and his body began trembling madly.

And then the hoarse screams began. Harry laughed.

Avery was then _Stupified _by the last wizard standing, cutting off Harry's fun. Harry sobered, continuing to stand motionless as he surveyed the scene before him. Three wizards were unconscious while Lucius Malfoy was standing nearby, his silver eyes assessing Harry with both veiled surprise and scorn. Across from Harry, Severus Snape stood, his feet planted apart and his hands cupped together coolly in front of him.

"Potter," Malfoy spat.

"Malfoy," Harry replied evenly, smirking at the blond from the corner of his eye. The man's face was already beginning to swell and turn deep purple and black. "But Merlin, that look is good on you. Truly." He turned back to look at the silent Snape.

With disinterest, Harry placed his foot underneath the brute-man's body and flipped him on his stomach. Keeping his attention on the two men, Harry crouched, pulling out his dagger. The man was still alive. Harry wouldn't have it any other way. He made sure to land blows that would make them all unconscious, not dead.

"You're _Custos_," Malfoy continued, disbelief creeping in his tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry started. "I was simply enjoying a nightly stroll," he whispered innocently, making a show using his grey cloak to clean the blood off his dagger.

"It shouldn't be a surprise, a filthy half-breed like you—"

"Even when you sound like a dying Hippogriff, you still enjoy the sound of your voice too much, Malfoy." Without removing his eyes from Snape, Harry took his wand from its holster once again and cast a nonverbal _Stupefy. _His aim was true and even though Malfoy attempted to dodge, it caught the man directly at his chest.

"Your aim has improved considerably, Potter," Snape spoke dryly, his expression completely schooled. His wand was still held limply in his folded hands.

Harry gave a twisted smile, studying the man who had once turned his back on him. Snape was a name and a person whom Harry had refused to think long and hard about. This was the one and only man who Harry had reached out to, the one person who could have truly helped him and steered him down a different path. Harry felt bitter hatred for this man, but it wasn't as strong as he thought it should be. Because, if it wasn't for this man, Harry would have never reached his fullest potential.

He looked down, staring at the dagger and the wand. Unlike the others, Harry knew Snape was quick and lethal. A physical attack would work but Harry had to chance getting close enough. No, a physical assault would not do, at least not initially. Snape had watched the others fall and he would expect something similar.

Placing his dagger into his boot, he kept a solid hold on his wand. Hermione thought he was inadequate with a wand nowadays. The public believed _Custos _was a weak wizard. But they were all wrong. He still had his ability to duel from his days growing up. His father had been the one to teach him and James Potter had been known for his skill. Though, Harry had always preferred becoming a professional Quidditch player over becoming a prospective Auror.

Just because he looked down on using magic at all times, didn't mean he was insufficient. Wizards relied on their wands too much and it gave them a false-sense of security. They were not indestructible, they were mere men holding sticks if they didn't know how to use them properly.

Snape raised his eyebrows when he noticed Harry choosing his wand over his dagger. "Are you certain that's a wise decision, Potter? If I remember correctly, you somehow managed to stumble your way through Hogwarts' dueling tournament using only your father's defensive magic as guide."

Yes, Snape was a remarkable duelist, incredible at offense. And he was right. If Harry was still a defensive dueler, he would have never survived very long with a predator like Snape pushing him backward. "You'd be surprised at how much time can change one's magic," Harry murmured to himself, twirling his wand between his fingers. "You might even find that it's _you _who is being forced to use defensive magic."

He stalked nearer to Snape, eyeing the man with tamed excitement. Being this close to a capable and valuable prey was almost as—

"Where's your Lord?" Harry asked quietly, his eyes just briefly leaving Snape's to consider the dark woods surrounding them. He knew the man was here. He had to be here. The man was keeping to the shadows, watching and evaluating Harry from a distance. The thought sent a thrill down his spine.

"You haven't changed, Potter." Snape caught Harry's attention once again. "You're still much like your father, arrogant and conceited. Do you truly think you can stand up to a Dark Lord of Tom Riddle's caliber?"

"Perhaps not magically," Harry conceded. He grinned when he spied Snape's small expression of surprise at his lack of tantrum. No, Snape was still as clueless as he was when Harry was in Hogwarts. "I think you pretend to believe that I haven't changed at all in order to hide your own sad evolution." Harry stopped pacing and turned around fully to face Snape head on. He planted his feet shoulder length apart, ready. "Because the truth is, you're still a sad little man who can't get over the fact that his childhood obsession married your biggest rival. And more importantly, you're still a bloody _coward_."

The pinched nostrils were his first clue. The onyx eyes flashing were his second clue. And the challenging step forward was his last clue that his remark had done its predicted damage. Snape was furious and Harry had intended to make him as such.

He dropped his arrogance and excitement and replaced it with cool detachment as Snape's attack came. He sidestepped the first one and wasn't at all surprised to see three other curses whip past him with angry succession. He whirled in a tight turn to avoid the second one, but had to cross his wand in front of his body to block the third curse.

An angry Snape was more vulnerable than a stable Snape. Harry intended to lead the man into a trap and it appeared as if they were getting off to a good start.

Harry kept his defense up, intentionally holding back on his offensive magic. Snape thought Harry was a purely defensive dueler and he would refuse to consider otherwise because he was _never _wrong when it came to a Potter. Harry also kept a twisted smile on his face, trying to mirror his father's cocky grin as best as he could. While he didn't feel entirely cocky, he wanted Snape to see James Potter, he wanted the Potions Master to become even more deranged.

Sirius had claimed a few months ago that Harry was beginning to look remarkably more like Lily each day. But Snape would, could never see it that way.

He intentionally let a few curses nick him and some had escaped past his defenses without his intending to. A curse had even carved a spiraling wound across his arm, casting blood across the ground. Somehow, through the pain, he grinned like James. "Is that the best you can do… _Snivellus_?" he roared, pitching his laugh to mimic Sirius'.

And if he hadn't felt Snape's true fury earlier, he was certainly getting a taste now. Harry blocked an especially dangerous curse, using an upward block to enhance the shield. Snape even went as far as magically disturbing the ground where he stood. Harry stumbled but kept on his feet. His grin may have been James but his eyes remained true as they focused on Snape, calculating and waiting for his chance to strike.

Harry lulled Snape into a false but steady rhythm. Back at Hogwarts, Harry had won the dueling tournament in his Sixth Year and Snape had decided to treat him to a prize—a chance to duel the resident Potions Master. Harry had lasted only a few minutes, being demolished by the cruel and vicious Snape as the Slytherins cheered on. At the time, Harry believed he could have won. His overconfidence made him unprepared to deal with the larger threat of Snape.

This time, though, not only had Harry improved significantly on his offensive magic, but he also saw Snape as a worthy opponent. He knew the man was a skilled duelist. Harry's level mind gave him the ability to think thoroughly and prey on Snape's weaknesses.

As soon as he saw the man's aggression slow due to fatigue, Harry began his counterattack. He built a shield that absorbed and retained all of Snape's curses, bracing himself as it took a great deal of strength to keep it effective. Four curses later, Snape finally realized that Harry was standing motionless, holding a web-like shield. Harry's James-persona suddenly slipped into ice-like cruelty.

The man would never learn. His prejudices made him weak.

"You are _too _easy," Harry breathed, throwing the shield packed with Snape's curses back at him. Onyx eyes widened and he stumbled backward, hastily shielding himself. Though, his shield hadn't been strong enough and he was thrown off his feet.

Harry didn't allow the fallen man a chance to recover. He advanced closer, closing the distance between himself and Snape, not the least bit uptight at the close proximity. His attacks were cold and powerful as he cast a hex with each step, sure to put as much strength behind the attack as possible. The man had to defend himself on the ground, not having enough time to pick himself up in between conjuring shields.

He infiltrated a weak point inside Snape's shield, cutting off two of the man's fingers and sending his wand flying. Harry leered down at Snape, raising his hand to finish the duel properly. Only, Snape was a proud man and would rather stoop to dishonorable methods than lose to a _Potter. _

His onyx eyes locked fiercely with Harry's and he made a jump inside his mind.

Upon the invasion, Harry stumbled, dropping his wand and clutching his head. With his powerful Legilimency, almost bordering possession, Snape easily took control of Harry's body, making him stay rooted in place. Through muddled eyes, Harry could make out Snape reaching for his fallen wand, intent of winning with Harry immobile.

The man was staying firmly in the front of his mind, refusing to dig any deeper than necessary. And Harry knew exactly why the man was staying away. If the bastard wanted to invade Harry's mind, then he would get a little _taste _of what he had turned his back on that day at St. Mungos.

Just as Snape curled his mangled hand around his wand, Harry gathered all the emotions he had remembered feeling from his mother. He also bundled in flashes of Lily's face, more especially, her broken and mangled corpse.

And then he chucked it in Snape's direction. The man _had _been asking for it and Harry was more than happy to oblige.

Snape gave a hoarse cry, like that of a wounded animal as he was bombarded with the images and emotions. Because he had been inside Harry's mind, he was vulnerable to seeing what Harry saw and feeling what he felt.

"_Lily_!"

He pulled out from Harry's mind in a mad dash, accidently ripping something vital on his way out. Harry's body lurched and pain overtook him. Collapsing to the cold ground, Harry screamed, feeling as if his eyeballs were burning from the intense heat and pain. A headache unlike anything he had ever experienced before bloomed inside his head. His ears bled and his nose followed suit seconds later.

Harry panted and whined, hoping that it was somehow Snape who was making those wretched sounds. He curled in on himself, dry heaving as the nausea churned his stomach.

Suddenly, a hand pressed into his belly, forcibly straightening him out onto his back. Harry resisted at first but the pain made him unable to resist for very long. His back was forced levelly on the ground and he looked up through hazy eyes at the last man he wanted to see in his current position.

Tom Riddle loomed, half kneeling and half laying on the ground above him. With one hand holding Harry's belly down, another spider-like hand grasped his jaw, holding his face still. Crimson eyes, as bright as Snape's earlier curses had been, stared down at Harry. "Tsk tsk, Severus, even amateurs aren't as clumsy as to make such a fatal mistake." He spoke to Snape but his eyes were all for Harry. The Dark Lord's face was impassive as he stared into Harry, entering his mind like a cool breeze.

It was tempting to resist mentally, but Harry could find no fight left in him as he stared, slack. Although his mind refused to reject Riddle's invasion, Harry curled his weak fingers around the man's wrist laying over his stomach, a feeble attempt to state his dominance in such a situation. His fingernails broke the skin even as Riddle healed his mind.

The man's mental touch was light and airy, touching him like that of a serpent's tongue. The places he touched turned cool, a generous reprieve from the earlier pain.

Riddle blinked, escaping Harry's mind and surprisingly having the courtesy of not meddling. His crimson eyes then dropped to his bloody wrist where Harry was weakly gripping. A sly smirk stretched his lips as he looked back up at the younger wizard's face. His earlier gentleness fell victim to predator-like ferocity as he curled his free hand through Harry's hair, yanking at the roots. Harry grunted, his head forced backward as Riddle leaned closer, their noses nearly touching.

Harry gave a weak glare, far too gone to make his own challenge clear. The man was lucky Harry was in no state to fight back.

"You already owe me, Harry," he purred, flashing his teeth.

And then the man Apparated, taking Harry with him.

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**Notes:** Alright, so maybe I was a little overzealous with this chapter. Harry is just kickass, what do you expect? Yet he still has his weaknesses. Cormac McLaggen's 'interview' will be next chapter. And no worries. Just because Riddle knows who _Custos _is and has Harry in his possession doesn't mean the fun and games have ended. They have only just begun ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes**:There have been a few concerns regarding the Legilimency in this story. Consider my Legilimency as non-canon. Hopefully we'll learn more about it as well. Also, the dominance game between Harry and Riddle will go back and forth. One chapter, Riddle will be superior. Other chapters Harry will be. It's a trade-off, I'm afraid, so don't get too worked-up if Harry loses once and awhile.

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Thanks so much for your reviews.

**9. Chapter Nine**

_Lily smiled emotionally, unshed tears clinging to her eyelashes. Besides her, James Potter was still unconscious, having put up the largest fight among the three of them. A deep gash on his forehead and the broken leg was proof of his failed efforts._

_Harry began to stir, frowning at the pitch darkness around him. He didn't remember much, just the sudden attack at their home in America. "Mum?" he murmured, squinting into the dark at his mother. He didn't have his glasses, but he was able to make out her blurred figure. Her hand was stroking his hair, an attempt to soothe him. _

"_Hush, Harry, go back to sleep. You… you will need your strength for later." _

_She began humming, stroking his face and hair lovingly. Harry, still suffering from a head injury, began to drift off to his mother's wretched lullaby. _

"_I'm so sorry…" she whispered brokenly. _

Harry jerked awake, inhaling harshly as his mother's humming echoed in his ears. He kept his eyes closed as he bowed his head forward, refusing to 'awaken' until he gathered his bearings. It was one of the things he had done since his stay at hell. He would feign unconsciousness and mentally brace himself for what waited for him on the other side of slumber.

The events from before he lost consciousness came back at him with a rush of extreme disappointment. He breathed evenly, acknowledging that he had been trapped and that he had been foolishly captured. Bloody hell, it was such a simple trap, albeit an effective one. The way Harry hunted his victims was well-known, even to the general public. He went after criminals who had been released from the Ministry. It could have been _anyone _who'd set that trap up and he'd fall for it.

He had been too predictable, just like Cormac bloody McLaggen.

How… sadly disappointing...

Harry hung his head further, fury licking and burning his chest. It was the first and last time he'd make that mistake. What made his lack of foresight shoddier was that it was _Riddle _who had set it up, as if the man had _known _that Harry would fall for it that easily. Even if Malfoy was a bloody ponce, he had been right. Hunters always caught their prey with the right type of bait. How could Harry resist a man as tainted as Macnair?

Though, it suddenly dawned on him that Riddle might know he was an Empath. The Dark Lord had a lot of tainted cult-like followers but Macnair was by far the worse Harry had ever come in contact with. He was as bad, if not fouler than Erik Slore. Riddle had to have known that Harry could feel the taint from Macnair. It was the only reason he had stuck around as long as he had and stalked the perimeter of his house.

So who told Riddle about Harry's Empathy? Was the man really _that _smart to figure it out himself? Empaths weren't very common, and when they were known, they weren't nearly as powerful as Harry.

He rolled his neck, bringing his attention back to the present. He was magically bound to a chair, his feet restrained and his arms charmed to hold motionless behind him. Riddle's magic was noticeable and oppressive as it hugged his skin. Vaguely, he was aware that his wand arm was healed marginally, taking away the earlier pain and sting. Riddle must have healed it, or attempted to.

Expectedly, he opened his eyes carefully, expecting to see a mocking Dark Lord looming in front of him. Fortunately, only a lavish office met his assessment. It was comfortably warm with colors of rich browns and deep greens.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked across from him, immediately noticing a portrait of a woman. It was a rather large portrait, evidence that Riddle used to hold this woman in high regard. The frame itself was gold, appearing as if it cost more than the gold coins in Harry's heaping vault. The painting was extremely life-like, making it appear more like a woman gazing in a mirror rather than a piece of artwork.

With critical but blank eyes, Harry stared at the woman. She appeared in her late thirties in the portrait, but that didn't necessarily mean she had passed away that young. While one eye looked at him directly and the other eye pointed in a completely different direction, she still had a sort of unique appeal to her appearance. The dull black hair was in kinky waves to her elbows, bringing attention to her thin and gaunt face. Her eyes were brown, mirroring Tom Riddle's shade almost exactly.

She appeared like a shy and quiet woman, even bordering on timid and damaged. Yet, Harry stared deeper, noticing the hardness to those eyes, as if she had to struggle through life just to accomplish the simple feat of staying upright. This woman was most likely a strong and capable witch when the situation demanded it.

The question was; what kind of woman earned the position of Tom Riddle's highest regards?

Really, the brown-colored eyes were a dead giveaway. While mother and son had little similarities, the similarities were still there. Their noses, for instance, had the same curve and their lips were both thin yet shapely. And they even seemed to give off the same majestic air, the kind of air nobility seemed to carry even if they never flaunted it. This was Tom Riddle's mother, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. She was most likely a witch, yet didn't have the option of fixing her unaligned eyes. Harry once read that wizards who interbred amongst their own family often produced children with cross-eyes or similar defects. Healers could never fix the eyes because the incestuous genes were too strong to counterattack.

Harry lifted his lip, keeping eye contact with her. She stared back at him, strong intrigue and amusement on her features.

"My mother, Merope." Riddle's voice cut through the silence like a dagger. Harry remained facing forward, away from Riddle's advancing form on his left. "She seems rather fascinated with you. I daresay that I had something to do with piquing her interest."

Riddle had shed his outer-cloak and was left in his black slacks and grey-collared shirt. Even from the corner of Harry's eye, he was aware of the man's porcelain pale skin. The dark hair was parted to the side, the same hairstyle Minister Riddle wore during the day. But the wrinkles were gone and the cheekbones were stretched taunt over flawless skin. The Dark Lord appeared younger once again and Harry couldn't understand why the man was parading around as a younger wizard in his free time. Unless, of course, it wasn't a glamour at all.

Had Riddle truly grasped the gift of immortality? Harry scoffed mentally, refusing to let his mind wander over Riddle's appearance any longer. He had larger issues to deal with.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment, _Harry_?" Riddle inquired, his silky voice pitched lower in amusement as Harry remained mute and motionless.

Green eyes stared listlessly ahead, ignoring the tall form as it came to a stop next to his chair. Harry may have been magically bound to a chair, but he refused to give the man any satisfaction whatsoever, including the satisfaction of attention. That was all the Dark Lord wanted anyway, for Harry to give some sort of reaction.

No, Harry was and would remain stone-faced.

A hand reached out and covered Harry's cheek in entirety, as if cupping it gently. When Harry refused to react, the hand curled and the fingernails raked across his face possessively. The nails didn't break the skin, they only left hot trails in their wake.

Something warm and tight coiled Harry's belly at the claiming stroke. He itched to return the favor to Riddle, to show the man that he wasn't the only one capable of dominance. He refused to admit he was aroused, simply because he hated this man and what he stood for. Yet, Harry couldn't deny the conflicting emotions when it came to Riddle. The man was just _fun _to interact with, to challenge, to fight with. He was also intelligent and enigmatic. Harry never felt quite as alive and sharp as he did when he was in Riddle's presence.

"What a transformation it is without your glasses," Riddle mused lowly, his nails raking the underbelly of Harry's chin. "You're a whole different person without your clumsy façade." He forcibly tugged Harry's chin to the side, forcing the younger wizard to make eye-contact with him. Riddle smiled thinly, looking pleased with himself for catching his intended prey.

"I knew it was you all along, Harry."

Harry only stared blankly, mentally snarling. Riddle had _not _known it was him all along, Harry could attest to that much. If Riddle had known, he would have acted sooner. He wouldn't have kept a safe distance after each attempt Harry had executed to shake him off his trial

Riddle hummed deep in his throat, pushing Harry's cheek away from him and breaking eye-contact. The man walked carefully around his seated form, as if debating on what method to execute in order to break Harry's silence. As he circled, his long fingers trailed tauntingly across Harry's chest and around his shoulders and back. His steps were silent and lethal. If it wasn't for the fingers raking across his torso, Harry would have had to remove his eyes from the far wall in order to track the man's whereabouts.

The Dark Lord's smugness was incredibly potent. Harry stared stubbornly at the door across from him, his eyes zeroed on the doorknob. He had no one else to blame but _himself_. He should have been more mindful of his surroundings and he shouldn't have been so focused on the end result of getting his hands on Macnair. He had to accept his stupidity, get over it, and do something to remedy it.

"Are you chastising yourself? Is that the reason for your silence?"

He broke. "No," he whispered softly, "You simply aren't worth my time."

Riddle acted, taking a handful of Harry's hair in his curled fist and yanking his head backwards. He leaned in close, their faces hairs apart as they breathed the same air. "_Liar_," the man exhaled. His crimson eyes captured and held Harry's stare. "If I wasn't worth your time, you wouldn't have spent days scooping the traffic in and out of my manor. If I wasn't worth your time, you wouldn't kidnap associates of mine and directly challenge me."

Harry clenched his teeth together in a smile. "I was returning the favor."

"I'm surprised to hear you admit that you were threatened, Harry."

The man kept using his given name. Harry didn't quite understand the implications of that. Was he trying to intimidate him further? Was he rubbing it in that he discovered _Custos' _identity? Either way, it certainly wasn't getting on Harry's nerves. It took a great deal to ruffle him. "I never said anything about being threatened, _Minister. _I only said I returned the favor." He was keeping special attention on the hand curled in his hair. Once it gave way…

_Come closer, Riddle. I dare you. _

Riddle smiled thinly, his eyes drifting down to Harry's lips just briefly before he looked back up at him. "Doubtless, we both got what we wanted. I have you in my possession finally."

"And pray tell," Harry growled lowly, "What did I get in return?" The hand loosened only a fraction in his hair but it was enough. His eyes dropped from Riddle's crimson gaze to the bridge of his nose. He mentally calculated the distance and the height he would need to get a successful hit.

"I answered your silent pleas for help."

By Merlin, the man was a smug _bastard. _He certainly didn't feel bad about damaging the man's face. Harry pulled marginally away from Riddle's looming face, giving himself accelerative momentum and straightening his torso in the process. He stiffened his neck muscles and clenched his teeth before using his body as weight to thrust his head forward. Harry slammed the hard part of his skull against Riddle's nose.

The _crack _that sounded was almost as pleasing as Malfoy's was earlier. Riddle didn't make a sound, but he did back away quickly, turning his back on Harry and pressing his hands to his face. The sight was highly amusing to Harry.

He snickered coolly, his eyes flashing with glee as he considered Riddle's turned back. "Didn't Merope ever warn you not to provoke caged predators, Riddle?" Harry crooned. He suddenly turned serious, losing his mirth. "I don't know what you want from me. If it's to turn me in, then do so. But if it's conversation you want, I can assure you I won't cooperate while I'm tied to a chair." The magical binding around his ankles and arms turned almost painful in their restraint, a direct correlation to Riddle's silent but lethal anger.

"Are you even capable of carrying on a conversation?" the Minister whispered darkly, his back remaining stubbornly facing Harry.

"With the likes of you? No."

Riddle kept silent for a moment, most likely trying to wandlessly heal his nose. There were a few drops of blood that dripped between his fingers and onto the floor at his feet. The _crack _that echoed across the room signaled that Riddle set his nose back in order.

A moment later, a small object sitting on the desk to Harry's left issued a low beeping noise and emitted a flash red light. He had seen those before. They were similar to Muggle pagers; they were especially used at the Ministry for the employees and their Departments.

Harry's smile was tight. The Ministry was calling for their Minister. It appeared as if this conversation would be postponed. Perfect.

The Dark Lord threw the object a look over his shoulder, his face expressionless. A crimson eye then peeked at him. "Then you can sit here until you are capable of speaking to me."

Like that would ever happen.

"You're overcompensating," Harry taunted softly, watching as the man made his way to one of the doors. "You think binding to me to a chair and making me sit here will make me feel inferior?" Even if the bindings were cutting off his circulation, he hardly let it affect him. "It's a rather large compliment for me to realize you have to hold me down in order to extract your will. How… disappointing, Riddle. I had expected more of a challenge from your intellectual side."

Riddle's shoulders stiffened and a low hiss escaped past his lips. "You aren't in the position to belittle _me_ when I'm the one holding the cards." While he was angry, his voice was controlled and calm. "You _will _sit here until I return. Do try to be a good boy." And just like that, he swept from the room.

"Say hello to McLaggen for me," Harry murmured after the man before the door slammed shut behind him. Though, Harry narrowed his eyes, able to have seen what was on the other side of Riddle's door. It looked like an exact replica of the Minister's office at the Ministry.

Did the man have doors leading to different places? Harry took another look around the office. He couldn't see the entirety of the perimeter, the bindings prevented him from turning fully, but he counted at least five separate doors spread across the office. Each one must lead somewhere else, a convenient way for Minister Riddle and the Dark Lord to be in places quicker. The Minister of Magic could be 'in his office' but no one would know he had taken another passageway inside the Ministry to come here and be a Dark Lord in between meetings.

This was also a clear violation of the Ministry bylaws. Creating doorways like this was almost as bad as tearing a sector in the Ministry wards and creating a location where enemies could Apparate and Disapparate inside without detection.

Harry exhaled slowly, glancing at the other doors and wondering where they led to. This could also explain why there was more traffic going _inside _Riddle's manor than outside. Followers may have another door that led to another base. Or Diagon Alley? Anywhere, really.

Slowly, green eyes rotated around to stare at Merope. The woman disappeared from her frame, giving Harry stark solitude. He didn't know what Riddle actually planned with him. The method of Harry's captivity indicated Riddle didn't want him to suffer just yet. Still, Harry wasn't one to just sit still and wait for someone to come back to control the situation. _Harry _was the one who controlled situations.

Granted, he had a brief slip earlier that resulted in Riddle to have the upper hand. The man was too haughty if he believed Harry would sit meekly and take this sitting down.

Harry frowned. While he hated to admit it, he _did _have a disadvantage with Riddle. The Dark Lord knew his identity now and he had the willpower to do anything he wanted with that knowledge. But what Riddle didn't know was that Harry always had options. He refused to be blackmailed into anything when he could just run. And depending on the type of blackmail, Harry may even surrender himself up to the Ministry's custody.

Though, those options of freedom wouldn't be available to Harry if he was forever in Riddle's possession. His Doppelgänger was posing as Harry Potter and no one would realize he was gone. He could be locked here until he was forced to accept Riddle's terms.

No, it was best to have Riddle approach _him, _in Harry's turf where a Doppelgänger was not giving the Dark Lord an advantage of holding him hostage for an unlimited amount of time.

Thinking of his Doppelgänger reminded him of a small accessory he had forgotten. He had added a little something _extra _to his copy for a possibility of something like this happening. Harry's lips twisted in a smile as he truly dissected that information. It could be risky and he could fail, but he'd try anyway. Riddle wouldn't see this coming, surely not.

He settled his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, reaching out to the link he shared with his double.

**{Dreams}**

She entered a smaller portrait hanging on the wall of his Ministry office, her eyes critical as she watched him try to fix the swelling around his face. She wouldn't ask him if he was alright, simply because he wouldn't respond with a fair answer. "Who is calling for you?" she asked instead.

"The Aurors," he replied in a clipped tone.

The blood was magically eliminated from the front of his robes and face. He turned, searching for a tie that he kept at his Ministry office. Slowly, as he pulled out a simple black tie, his features began to wrinkle and age. Usually she watched him apply the glamour carefully with his wand, but his suppressed anger was causing his magic to grow erratic. He would need to use his wandless magic in order to prevent any magical mishaps.

Merope was surprised he was able to prevent losing control in front of the boy. Their first encounter certainly hadn't gone according to his plans.

"You seem uncertain, mother," Tom drawled tightly, placing his tie around his neck without another glance at Merope.

The young woman twisted her hands slightly but stopped when she remembered Tom had once told her that it was an unbecoming gesture. She lifted her chin, gazing softly at her child. "He's unstable, broken…"

"Broken," he agreed smoothly, "But not necessarily shattered. I've seen much worse." The elderly man peered in the mirror, beginning to knot his tie. "Currently, all his problems are linked to one tragic and horrific event. He didn't have anywhere to put the blame for what happened to his parents, so he's subconscious blaming any criminal he can get his hands on. His lack of Occlumency and his strong Empath gift isn't helping matters either."

"Currently?" she pressed, frowning. He looked over at her patiently, a silent question on his features. "You said _currently _all his problems are linked to his parents' death, Tom. What do you mean by that?"

His lips twitched. "You caught that well, mother." After straightening his suit, he turned to lean his palms against his desk. "My first goal is to teach Harry that his victims are _not _his unknown captives. He may think he's doing society a favor by eliminating those criminals, but he's only doing this to sate his own desires, to extract his revenge. Killing should never be emotional, it should be coolly calculated. If he continues to see his victims as his captors, he will lose himself. This realization will surely destroy him. We'll have an entirely new set of problems to deal with when that happens."

"He'll hate himself." Raised by the Light, the boy would surely struggle with the knowledge of what he'd done. With Tom Riddle leading him, the boy would eventually overcome his self-loathing and see it as something productive.

"Undoubtedly, if he doesn't already," Tom agreed. "Harry's locked into his flawed morality. Presently, he doesn't see himself as a killer, but as a wronged child extracting revenge and _saving _the citizens of Britain. He'll need to see that he's no hero, that he has committed crimes the same depth as the people he's hunting. After his self-destruction, it will be a difficult step to dance, but I'm sure I can put the pieces back together the way I want them."

She looked at the clock, knowing he needed to speak with the Aurors but he would postpone long enough to address her concerns. "You want to build him as your assassin…." she began hesitantly, still uncertain as to what her son wanted with Harry Potter.

Tom seemed to take interest in collecting useful witches and wizards. And he also made a habit of fixing things that were broken. Yet, he had never taken a direct interest in something of this caliber.

He seemed amused and only answered vaguely. "Yes and no."

Merope thought back to the interaction in Tom's office back home. The tension between the two had been thick, and so was the challenge. She had never seen her son as passionate as he was when he was interacting with that boy. "He's very handsome," she remarked, remembering those vivid green eyes surrounded by thick black eyelashes. The boy _was _a beauty, holding the same flawless exquisiteness around him that Merope had once seen in the elder Tom Riddle.

Dark eyes slanted in a predatory light. "Mother, what are you insisting?"

"Only what I witnessed," she shot back, standing her ground. "You're completely smitten."

"Smitten," the man repeated quietly. A mocking smile lifted the corners of his lips. "You make it so—"

"Innocent?" she interrupted. "Perhaps smitten isn't the right word for it, Tom, especially for someone of your… character. You're consumed; completely intoxicated by the prospect of having someone that can challenge you and outwit you." Her smug smile turned down into a frown. While Tom had mentioned that Potter was indeed that challenger, she still didn't see it. "You have never taken on a lover before, only trysts. You don't truly believe he's your match, do you, child? You are so much more powerful than him, you deserve better."

"Not everything is measured by magical prowess, mother." Tom's face closed. "Watch over him, make sure he doesn't try anything. If he does, call for someone to assist you while I'm with the Aurors." He pushed away from the desk and swept gracefully toward the door. "It shouldn't take long to finish here. The wards will prevent _him_ from physically touching any of the doors in my office."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And would you be displeased if he _didn't _try something?" She tsked as he shut the door, refusing to answer.

**{& Darkness}**

He stormed into the Department in a foul mood.

Of course, he didn't _appear _to be in a foul mood, but Kingsley could see the tense lines around his mouth and eyes, as if he were holding something back. Usually the Minister was cloaked with enthralling magic, drawing in people around him. This morning, Riddle seemed to project an aura of unapproachability. Nevertheless, the Aurors still turned their heads, watching as the man swept through the maze of desks.

For his part, Riddle wore a gentle expression on his face and greeted a few Aurors who were close to his proximity. They melted, returning the welcome with far more enthusiasm. Sirius Black just grimaced when Riddle turned his charm onto him.

"Minister Riddle," Kingsley greeted carefully, sweeping careful eyes down the man's attire. Prim and proper as always. "I hope you weren't too busy when I called for you."

The deep brown eyes wrinkled further as the Minister smiled at Kingsley. "If I had been busy, Auror Shacklebolt, then I wouldn't be here, now would I?" He smiled pleasantly, placing a hand on Kingsley's shoulder and steering them away from the front of the Department. "Have you finally gotten possession of Mr. McLaggen?"

"Yes, we finally have McLaggen and… his newly acquired tan. He didn't return home until yesterday after a four day vacation to the Virgin Islands. Conveniently, there hadn't been any more murders for that stretch of time." Kingsley shook his head as they headed toward the interrogation room. "I understand you weren't particularly interested in being present for the interrogation, but I thought I'd invite you anyway. He seems friendly enough, open enough."

Riddle chuckled, patting Kingsley once on the shoulder before dropping his arm. "_Custos, _when caught, will most likely be smooth with the questioning until backed into a corner. Don't let his political sophistication fool you."

Kingsley _had _thought of that. He just wanted to hear the Minister's input. The man was giving the impression that he was interested in the case once again. "So you'll stay for the questioning?" Kingsley wondered as the came to a stop outside the closed door to McLaggen. "I had thought you weren't impressed where the case was heading."

The taller man rotated his body to face Kingsley fully, his expression morphing into one of patient understanding. "I understand my actions in the past may have indicated otherwise, but I am truly anxious to see this case move forward and either clear or prosecute McLaggen for his involvement. There have been… distractions on my end, forgive me if I had appeared preoccupied, Auror Shacklebolt."

It was plausible. Kingsley wanted Riddle around for his intellectual mind and his quick thinking, but he also had to understand that the Minister had other duties to attend to as well. He nodded, accepting the answer. "I too would like to get this case solved."

Indeed, he wasn't accustomed to work like this. Solving mysteries and crimes weren't his or his Aurors' specialty. They left those finer details to the Unspeakables. The Aurors, on the other hand, dealt with direct aggression or an investigation into an abuse of Dark Arts. They always _knew _their suspect before acting. Kingsley couldn't remember a time when their suspect was able to fool the fine-toothed investigation from the Unspeakables.

Though, the situation with Erik Slore reminded Kingsley that there _were _other serial killers out there besides _Custos. _

He opened the door to the interrogation room, immediately spotting Cormac McLaggen sitting properly in his chair. The boy's blond hair had grown lighter and his skin had darkened due to his stay in the Virgin Islands. For the life of him, Kingsley couldn't conjure up the image of _Custos _lying in the sun with a glass of finely prepared liquor beside him.

His excitement at having such a prospective lead was beginning to dissipate. Cormac didn't seem like their man, though, the boy was certainly arrogant enough.

"Auror Shacklebolt." Cormac nodded sharply in his direction before turning to Riddle. A subtle lift to his eyebrows was the only indication of his surprise. "And Minister Riddle, it's a very pleasant surprise to see you. I hope you're faring well?"

It was a politician's voice. Kingsley deadpanned, hearing the boy's obvious effort to deepen his voice. Riddle appeared just as unimpressed.

"Perhaps not as well as you, Mr. McLaggen. I heard you recently took a trip to the Virgin Islands." Riddle walked toward the seat opposite of McLaggen and sat down. "Needed a vacation away from it all?"

Kingsley shuffled the parchments and photographs inside his folder and approached the chair next to Riddle and opposite of their suspect. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the bright expression on McLaggen's face darkened considerably into wary politeness.

"Of course, I think everyone deserves a few days away from the stress of reality." McLaggen clasped his hands coolly on top of the table, smiling lightly at both Kingsley and Riddle. "What can I help you with, gentlemen?"

Withdrawing the photograph of Lady Zabini and Erik Slore, Kingsley placed them on the table in front of them, making certain they were angled in McLaggen's direction. "Are you familiar with these people, Mr. McLaggen?" Kingsley tapped the photograph of Lady Zabini. "Of course, everyone of high standing should know Lady Zabini, but what about him?" He motioned toward Slore.

Cormac frowned deeply. "I… yes, of course, he was one of _Custos' _victims. Erik Slore, a sick bastard who cut up living humans just for his potions." The boy's gaze jumped from Riddle to Kingsley. "And Lady Zabini was also a victim of _Custos. _But she had never been truly convicted of any crimes."

Riddle leaned forward. "Do you follow the _Custos _case closely, Mr. McLaggen?"

"A lawyer of your standing must be watching the case closely," Kingsley added to Riddle's query. He opened his folder, peering at Cormac's turnover results. "You have a good victory record for someone as young as yourself. A success rate of ninety-eight percent isn't bad, in fact, it's suspiciously good."

"What can I say?" McLaggen wondered, a smile on his lips. "I _am _good."

Riddle and Kingsley exchanged a meaningful look. "You're good friends with Hermione Granger, am I correct?" Kingsley continued tensely, deciding to skip the pleasantries and go right to the questioning. "Despite her earning higher marks than you in education and accreditation exams, her current success rate is at fifty-six percent. Does this… bother you? Surely, because you meet with her for lunch once a week, you feel some sort of resentment for the discrimination she experiences with her cases."

"Now wait just a second," McLaggen argued, his face turning red with anger. He held up a finger. "Just because Hermione is _book smart _doesn't necessarily make her a better attorney than me." Here, he held up a second finger. "Secondly, her _discrimination _is a direct correlation to the _prejudiced _members of the Wizengamot. It's not up to me to fix that discriminatory problem, it's up to your Minister." He jabbed a third finger toward Riddle. "Thirdly, I know what you're trying to get at. I am not _Custos. _I've never killed a man in my life and I have never handled a dagger or practiced physical combatting skills. You should really look at your Aurors-in-training, Mr. Shacklebolt, or look at the ones that failed the magical combating examinations. _Custos _is a Muggle-loving idiot who will meet his end when he's faced with a magical-capable wizard. And to think people worship him because of his perverse sense of justice."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows, remembering Riddle's earlier words about _Custos _being political smooth until backed into a corner. This certainly was a corner.

"Magic is traceable, McLaggen," Riddle said smoothly. "It's one of the reasons why _Custos _has been avoiding detection. His physical ability is certainly not viewed as a handicap, but as an advantage." He smiled suddenly, appearing far more sinister than comforting. "Unfortunately for you, sometimes the perfect crime cannot be executed without a little magic, no matter how much you'd like to muffle it."

Cormac shook his head, still angry and now perplexed.

Kingsley cupped a contemplative hand against his mouth. "Have you experienced any unusual circumstances as of late, Mr. McLaggen? Has anyone threatened you? Have you noticed any of your items gone missing?"

McLaggen shook his head again. "I've been busy at work, completely away from _Custos' _victims, away from civilization, away from any crimes."

"You may want to rethink that," Kingsley mused, sliding a piece of parchment toward McLaggen. "Your magical signature was found at the only crime scene that involved magic being performed by _Custos_." He watched as McLaggen leaned forward, grasping the parchment close to him. "A wand muffler was used over the wand, but our Unspeakables were able to extract a string of signature that was matched to _your _wand."

"The brother of my wand—"

"Is a man pushing his two-hundreds, Mr. McLaggen, and completely unable to engage in physical activity."

McLaggen chuckled bitterly, pushing the results away from him. "I'm not _Custos. _These results won't hold up in court."

Here, Kingsley leaned forward, reaching in the space between him and the boy. "Perhaps not on its own, and perhaps we even have the wrong man. All you need to do is give us an alibi for the night of December 9th, Friday evening around eight o'clock." It was exactly then when Erik Slore had been proclaimed dead.

Cormac paled and his eyes widened slightly. "I- I was at home."

Riddle chuckled. "Oh? And can anyone confirm that?"

McLaggen looked back and forth between the two men, his arrogance gone and falling victim to controlled nervousness. Kingsley took pity on him and offered him an out. "Will you permit us to use Truth Serum and memory—"

"No, that's illegitimate," Cormac growled, leaning back against his chair and crossing his arms. "I want a lawyer."

Kingsley considered the boy, viewing him in a new light. This could be it. This could _actually _be it. McLaggen fit their profile as of now. He had no alibi for the night of Erik Slore's murder and his magical signature was traced back to Lady Zabini's crime scene. Kingsley also knew a store owner in Knockturn Alley had sold a wand muffler the same day and time that Cormac took his lunches. And in that same day, the restaurant waitress confirmed Cormac had left earlier than he usually did.

McLaggen was also connected to Hermione Granger. He had a position of power during the day and he was intellectually smart. Even if McLaggen turned out not to be _Custos, _he was certainly guilty of something.

Yet, even when the pieces began to fall in place, Kingsley still felt uncertain about the way things were going.

**{Collide}**

Harry shuffled down the path to Riddle's manor. He was trying his best to make his movements fluid and _normal, _but he was finding it difficult to take full control of his Doppelgänger's mind. He had established a sloppy link with his Doppelgänger when he created it, means for a last resort. The link was weak and it was fragmented, a direct consequence of constructing it when he had been magically drained. There were times the Doppelgänger was able to nudge Harry away, but it was brief and fleeting.

Like now.

He felt his stomach clench in nausea as his consciousness was pushed away and the Doppelgänger's body crumpled to the ground. Harry then rocked forward in the link, establishing rule once again. When he was in his Doppelgänger's head, he didn't feel as if he were in control of a body. Instead, the sensation of controlling his Doppelgänger felt as if he had hot air in his head and his body was sluggish with a mind of its own.

The Doppelgänger _was _Harry Potter, but he had also been another before the ritual. It had its own belief that _he _was Harry Potter and an alien presence in his mind was clearly unwelcome.

Harry pushed himself off from the ground, sweat dripping the back of his neck. He had pulled his Doppelgänger out of the Ministry this morning before making his way to Riddle's manor. He _was _trying to go quickly, simply because he knew Riddle could return shortly.

Luckily, the gates were inching closer. Harry just hoped the Doppelgänger wouldn't push forward at a vital moment. If he had _one _misstep, he would be stuck in the chair at Riddle's office _and _his Doppelgänger would be in the Dark Lord's possession.

He reached out and tapped his knuckles against the wards to Riddle's manor, using the same three strikes he had seen the visitors use those days he had watched the manor. Someone would be out shortly. He knew. Harry only hoped he could pull this off in a believable and nonchalant manner. It was difficult focusing on the outside world when he was already engaged in a mental battle.

Imagine his delight when he saw Lucius Malfoy sweep from the manor's entrance and approach the gates. As soon as the blond spotted him, his eyes narrowed and his expression darkened into one of disgust and suspicion. Harry grimaced lightly, wishing he could use his Empathy to feed Malfoy hints of trust. The Doppelgänger only had a sliver of the ability, but Harry refused to attempt to use it, simply because he could lose grip on the Doppelgänger's mind if he tried to do three things at once.

"_Potter_, I had thought you were in the Dark Lord's office."

"Your nose healed nicely," Harry drawled, leaning against the stone pillar next to the gates. "Only the best medical treatment for a Malfoy, no?"

"When the damage is caused by a Muggle infliction, any injury is easily erased and forgotten." Lucius stopped in front of the wards, appearing as if he would rather kiss the ground a Muggle walked on than allow entrance to Harry. "I ask again, what are you doing here, Potter?"

Harry's lips quirked. His Doppelgänger was currently compliant, most likely curious to know what was going on and how it would unfold. "Riddle wants me in his office," Harry growled lowly, playing the act of an exasperated man forced to follow directions. "I had to check in at work earlier this morning but our _business _has not concluded as of yet."

Lucius' eyes narrowed further as he considered Harry. Before long, a smug smirk lifted his lips. "It didn't take too long to control you. Pity, I would have thought you'd put up more of a fight." Malfoy skillfully moved his curtain of blond hair over his shoulder in a surprisingly non-feminine way. "Though, it shouldn't come to a surprise, considering what information he has over your head."

Time was passing and Harry was growing impatient. Nevertheless, he refused to let it show on his expression. "Careful, Malfoy, so far Riddle hasn't warned me away from harming his followers." He pushed off from the wall, his steps stumbling just slightly as the Doppelgänger struggled against him. "Are you going to show me through? Or should I let Riddle come to me?" He grinned broadly, showing his teeth. "Because I certainly wouldn't mind it if Riddle had to come searching for _me_."

The blonde's eyes were still narrowed but he reluctantly reached out and pressed his hand against the wards. They glimmered before the gates opened for Harry. "_I _will show you to his office and keep an eye on you until he is back from the Ministry." He pointed his wand at Harry, apparently having attained a back-up wand. His original one had been sliced in half by Harry's dagger.

It was clear that Malfoy didn't know about Harry's double, his Doppelgänger. Riddle most likely hadn't had the time or the sense to tell his followers that there were two Harry's walking around Britain. In fact, he didn't know if Riddle believed Harry had created a Doppelgänger or used another sort of Charm. Evidently, Riddle hadn't seen it as a threat and it was understandable that he hadn't. Doppelgängers weren't usually controlled through a mind link by their creator, but Harry had taken special liberty of making his own.

As Malfoy led Harry inside the manor, the younger wizard kept close attention to their path. He would need to do a quick retreat, the Doppelgänger not included. Luckily, there weren't any other occupants in the manor, or at least they avoided the front of the house where Harry currently was. Good, he didn't want to attract any attention.

Without major incidents with the Doppelgänger, Harry finally came to a stop in front of a closed door. Through lowered lids, he eyed Lucius' drawn wand, mentally scoffing at the idiot. Malfoy liked to boast that Muggle's were inferior to wizards. And while that was the case the majority of the time, wizards were also far more ignorant and arrogant when it came to survival. The blonde's arm was extended and in close proximity to Harry. It would take a second to twist that arm, far quicker than what it would take for Malfoy to utter a curse.

He stood stationary as Malfoy unlocked the door to the office. As the door clicked open, Harry felt his adrenaline kick in. Was Riddle already there? Had his body been moved? Disturbed? Or worse, would he be able to transfer his consciousness back to his real self?

Malfoy pushed open the door, taking his eyes off Harry just briefly to glance inside the office. As soon as his eyes took in the bound and slumbering Harry Potter, the man's body tensed and twisted hate and confusion flickered across his face. Harry smirked, reining control of the Doppelgänger's body and attacking. He gripped Malfoy's wrist, twisting it around completely and yanking the man's arm out of its socket. Malfoy roared in pain and dropped his wand.

At the sight of the unconscious Harry Potter, the Doppelgänger began to fiercely resist Harry's control. It made Harry's movements sluggish as he reached down to collect Lucius' fallen wand. Unfortunately, Malfoy took that moment to embrace the Muggle art of combat and kicked him squarely in the face, breaking his glasses. Harry grunted, pushing the Doppelgänger's consciousness away before grasping Lucius' leg. Using his pent-up strength, he forcibly flipped Malfoy around and slammed the man against the ground face first.

His fingers fumbled with Malfoy's wand but he was able to get a slack hold on it. His mind was acting quicker than his resisting body and it made his vision spin. The shattered glasses on his face didn't help matters either. "_Immobulus," _he slurred, aiming for Merope's portrait. It missed and she quickly raced to escape the portrait. _"Immobulus!" _Luckily, this time his wavering aim had hit her portrait and she froze.

Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy, smirking and frowning at the same time. The blond hissed, raising to his feet and lunging for Harry. _"Stupefy_," Harry murmured.

The man went down and before the Doppelgänger chose to make another attempt at gaining control, Harry sealed all the doors in the office with the exception of the one currently open. Riddle would receive a nasty surprise when he tried to enter through his Ministry office. The only way the man would be able to get here is if he came the way Harry had. It would take longer, thus giving Harry more time to escape.

He groaned as the Doppelgänger attacked his mind again. The bloody thing!

Landing on his knees, Harry was beginning to lose whatever grip he had over the Doppelgänger. His mind floated for a moment, lost in limbo. For a second, he lost his identity, his purpose, he didn't know he had an existence. And when he thought he'd never be whole again, he was suddenly forced back into his own body.

"_Fuck_," Harry growled, jerking awake and staring at the Doppelgänger across the room. His breath was erratic and he knew there was no point in trying to convince the Doppelgänger to release him. The Doppelgänger was already stumbling up from the floor and pointing Malfoy's wand at him. "I am your creator, damn you," Harry breathed darkly. "You bend to _me_."

He reached out again, refusing to be thrown from his own creation's mind. The link was shredded but it was still there. He vowed this would be the last time he would do anything half-arsed again. The Doppelgänger resisted but eventually fell to its knees, unable to slip past Harry's control.

Crawling across the floor of Riddle's office, Harry shakily reached for the bindings around his unconscious body's ankles and wrists. He froze the magic into ice-like particles before shattering them. The magic had been strong, there would have been no way he would have been able to escape them without magic.

As soon as the bindings fell to pieces on the floor, Harry's consciousness leaped away from the Doppelgänger's mind and into his own. It felt _wonderful _to be in his own body once again, with complete control over his limbs. He stood up from the chair, stretching his body like that of his Animagus form. Through critical eyes, he watched as the Doppelgänger stood up, the wand in his hand the only defense.

"Who are you?"

Harry frowned, feeling… feeling a bit remorseful. There was no way to reverse the creation of a Doppelgänger, no matter how much the idea appealed to him. And there was also not a chance he could just let the Doppelgänger wander. He had created the Doppelgänger when he hadn't been truly in control, when he hadn't truly restrained the darkness inside of him. Now he had to deal with the consequences of that. "I'm sorry," Harry murmured, taking a step closer to his double.

Green eyes blinked in confusion behind broken glasses. "For… for what? Who _are _you?" The Doppelgänger raised his wand, a familiar stubborn tick to his jaw.

Closing himself off to any vulnerable emotions and also viewing this as his punishment, Harry reached out and twisted the Doppelgänger's arm like he had done Malfoy's. "I really am, sorry for creating you and taking your life away." He placed his hands on either side of the Doppelgänger's head and twisted sharply, breaking the neck instantly.

The body fell to the ground, broken and dead. Harry stood above it, staring down at the mirror-image of himself. At the time, he hadn't really thought of the Doppelgänger as another human being. It had been a mere convenience in his plans to thwart Riddle. But he _had _taken a man's life to create this, albeit a tainted man, but a man who hadn't proved his wrongdoings before Harry killed him. There hadn't been proof of his taint.

He breathed deeply, rolling his neck and staring at the ceiling. His face then hardened and he stepped over the Doppelgänger's and Malfoy's fallen form. The man had been tainted. He'd been tainted like the rest of them. Just like _them. _

Pausing in the doorway, Harry turned back around, grabbing Malfoy's fallen wand on the ground. _"Accio _Harry Potter's wand and dagger_." _He hadn't expected to see the items, but surprisingly enough, they flew at him from behind Riddle's desk.

Dropping Malfoy's wand, Harry caught both items in each hand. He cast a sweeping look around Riddle's office before escaping the room.

It was almost disbelieving at how empty the manor was as he traveled down the stairs and out the front door. In fact, he kept his guard up as he approached the gates, expecting something or someone to attack him. Yet, as he pushed past the gates, free of the wards and free of Riddle, he was left unscathed. Harry clutched his wand in his fist, Apparating directly to his flat. He would need to firecall the office and inform them that he was _sick_. He needed a day or two to brace himself before going back to reality.

Reality, a life full of masks, deceit, and false gratification.

Harry landed on his feet in his living room, looking toward the kitchen. Before the voice greeted him, he was already stiff and ready, his senses having identified the intruder.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. I truly am impressed."

He turned marginally, giving Riddle a look of blank contempt. The man was sitting on his sofa, paging through a photo album, the very same one Harry had stuffed beneath the piles of untouched books. Seeing the photos again upset him more than Riddle's presence. Nonetheless, he kept his expression clear as he twirled his dagger between his fingers. "Somehow, I'm not even surprised to see you here," he said dispassionately.

Crimson eyes finally looked up and a snake-like smile stretched the man's lips.

Harry readied himself mentally and emotionally, knowing this might be one of his largest battles yet.


	10. Chapter 10

**10. Chapter Ten**

**_1980_**

"_I can't do it, Lily. I'll have you let you go." _

"_No, you can't do this," she begged, protectively cradling her swollen belly. "James and I are having a child soon. Please…"_

_Parker Quills shook his head at the young woman. A small bit of pity creased the edges of his eyes as he watched her plead. "The Department caught you ingesting and brewing unlicensed potions." His gaze flickered to her pregnant belly. "And with a child, Lily, that can't be done. Who knows what effects the potion could have on the unborn child?" _

_He didn't agree with the Department's decision of letting Lily go from the Unspeakables. In all truth, he was more curious to know what side-effects her potion _could_ have on her child. Parker was a genius and an inventor, after all. Just as Lily was. He couldn't fault her for what she had done. They were meant to create new things, to stretch the bounds of magic. _

_Her long red hair pooled over her shoulder as she bowed her head. For a long moment, she ran her fingers over her stomach. "I would never put my child in harm's way. I told them that, Parker." Green eyes looked up at him imploringly. "Did Undersecretary Riddle sign off on my termination? Or did the Minister?" _

_Parker sighed. "The Department did, Lily." He relented under her sharp stare. "The Department sent your release papers to the Undersecretary, yes. But Tom Riddle is new to his position, Lily. Being directly under the Minister is difficult work." He was aware of Lily's less than favorable view for Tom Riddle. Parker didn't understand why. Riddle was a good man. "I highly doubt Riddle much less looked at those papers. He probably signed them without reading the entirety of the report. Maybe you can send him a petition or go to him directly? I'm sure he would listen—"_

"_And then I would be in his debt. No thank you," she replied curtly. _

_As she began walking from the Department of Mysteries, Parker spluttered, hating to see her go so defeated. "America!" he called after her. When she paused in her retreat, Parker jogged up behind her. "America's Department of Mysteries is less restricted than Britain's. With your sharp mind, I'm sure they will pick you up. It's only a quick Floo away. Even your husband can stay here for his Auror work." _

_Lily smiled softly, reaching over and pressing a hand against Parker's face. "Thank you, Parker." _

_He closed his eyes, revealing in the caress. Lily was a woman who carried such enthralling warmth with her. Men were hopelessly drawn to her beauty, to her intelligence. Even with Parker's one-track mind involving his pet projects, he still had time to adore Lily. _

_When he opened his eyes, she had gone. _

**{Dreams}**

"Dorea and Charlus Potter," Riddle murmured, his voice pitched high in mock remembrance. He easily slid the photograph from the album and waved it at a motionless Harry. His grandparents smiled back at Harry and waved. "I always found it fascinating that Dorea supported the marriage between her pure-blood son and a Muggleborn. She was six years ahead of me at Hogwarts." Riddle peered at the photograph. "I simply feel so old."

"Maybe because you _are _old." Harry continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, the only sign of his agitation. He didn't want Riddle looking at those photos, snapshots of the past and the painful memories they brought with it. "I suppose because you wear glamours to appear younger, you sometimes forget how old you truly are. Then again, forgetfulness is also a sign of aging."

Riddle tsked, placing the photograph back in the album. "Youngsters nowadays don't hold any respect for their elders." He flipped another page, his eyes critical and observant as he gazed at each photo. "Photographs are worth a thousand words," he quoted. "I can see that you loved your parents dearly, but held a special bond with your mother."

Lily, _mum. _Harry exhaled lowly, his expression slate."Says the man who has a portrait of his mother in his office."

"Touché." Crimson eyes snapped toward Harry, studying him blankly. A thin smile then crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Mothers always find a way to be the most prominent figure in their child's life, don't they, Harry?" He continued to stare at Harry, analyzing him closely. "Despite their faults, we love them and honor them. They can sway us in many ways. Amazing, really, that a mother can have a direct influence on the type of man her son becomes."

Riddle turned back to the photographs. "Pity you lost your mother at such an impressionable age. Eighteen? Nineteen? To others, you would have already reached adulthood, but you were just becoming a man. And to think, you lost your father at the same time."

The dagger slipped into his palm and Harry flung it across the room with sharp accuracy. The blade gleamed as it passed an open window before it embedded sharply into the wall next to Riddle's head. The man paused, startled, but easily veiled it.

"And I turned out to be capable enough, imagine that," Harry informed coldly. Snapping his fingers, the dagger flew back into his open palm with a smart _smack_. "Next time, I _will_ aim for your head."

The Minister only smiled thinly, staring down at the album. Harry observed him narrowly before his eyes took in the stack of books Riddle would have had to go through to get to the album. He suddenly turned rigid as he coolly assessed his flat. The changes would have seemed inconspicuous and hardly noticeable to the average man, but to Harry, who kept sharp and strategic order of his things, knew his items had been _touched _and _moved. _

His jaw clenched and his arm holding the dagger fell at his side. His fingers began twitching at the sheer invasion of his flat. His things had been _moved. _

Breathing in deep, he rolled his neck and looked back at Riddle. The man had seemed so casual and expecting when Harry had shown up, as if he had _known_ Harry had escaped. But that couldn't be possible. Riddle had been here for a good while. And Harry only used a few minutes to escape.

It was very possible that Riddle hadn't expected Harry to return to his flat. In fact, he probably was taken aback when Harry had Apparated inside. Only, he had covered up his unease with stunning simplicity and causality. But that left the question as to why Riddle had been here in the first place. Glancing down at the photos in the man's lap, Harry imagined Riddle had come here to find something he could use against him. Something personal.

That only meant that Riddle _hadn't _known Harry was _Custos _until last night's trap. The man may have had his suspicions, but he hadn't known for certain. If he had known, he would have been at Harry's flat long ago, prepared for their first meeting with incriminating blackmail. It was true, while Riddle did possess blackmail from his knowledge that Harry was _Custos, _even the Dark Lord knew he needed _more_ to gain an upper hand.

Feeling recharged, Harry smiled broadly at Riddle. "You'll need more than a photo album to get anything on me." He rocked on the balls of his feet before taking a few steps toward the sitting Dark Lord. "Unfortunately for you, I don't keep anything of worth in my home." Tapping two fingers against his temple, he leaned closer to Riddle. "It's all here."

Dark crimson eyes rolled from the photos and up to Harry's looming face. The man's pupils were slit, giving him a far more menacing look than the rest of his appearance. He was watching Harry, holding his gaze and seemingly staring straight through him. Harry stared back, bracing himself. The man would say something calculating, scathing, most likely—

"You were simply a _doll _as a child, Harry."

Harry deadpanned for only a second before he pierced the album on the man's lap with his dagger, the point digging through the entire book and teasing the man's crotch. Riddle's plan was to anger him, and while it was working, Harry would keep his voice steady and his expression fair. "You're good at acting on your toes, Riddle, I'll give you that. But you're not entirely too smart. What was your angle in leaving my wand and dagger in your office? It was entirely too easy to escape and too easy to set your mother's portrait aflame."

It was only a second, only the briefest of flashes, but it was there. Harry watched hungrily, loving the disbelief and fury that clouded Riddle's eyes at the mention of his mother going up in flames. Merope was most definitely Riddle's weakness. Even in death, the woman held his highest regard.

Riddle was a mama's boy. How… endearing. Harry wondered if Riddle was thinking of running back to his manor just to make certain Merope was still intact.

"I would skin you alive," Riddle said quietly, the threat clear in his tone.

"Does it bother you?" Harry started, curling his fingers more firmly around the hilt of the dagger. "That you've spent months chasing after me, and yet, you're no closer finding anything than you were originally? In fact, I'd say I know more about you than you can possible know about me." He leaned closer to Riddle, reversing their positions from earlier this morning. His lips were a mere breath away from Riddle's and the man certainly wasn't moving away. "I already know your Achilles heel."

"You're underestimating me largely." Riddle leaned even closer, forcing Harry to inch backward. "I have your entire fate in the palm of my hand."

"Oh, so you assume." Harry tugged the dagger towards himself, effectively ripping the album away from Riddle's grasp. He cradled the album, holding it in place as he yanked the blade from its pages. Only minimal damage, but it didn't matter, Harry never wanted to look at it again.

He stepped away from Riddle, throwing the album back on top the stack of books. Pressing his leather-clad fingers against the blade of his dagger, Harry began rubbing off the specks of dried blood. "You know I'm _Custos_." His sharp green eyes glanced at Riddle when the man stood up. "I don't know what your plans are regarding that bit of knowledge, but I can assure you, you won't be able to manipulate me with it."

"Again, you're making assumptions. I already have my plans bundled nicely."

He took a step closer, causing Harry to zero in on the man like that of a hunter watching his prey. The Dark Lord was still dressed in his Minister ensemble, but his appearance was reverted back to his younger self. He had left his cheater glasses on, but they did nothing to dull the intensity of the red eyes.

"You assume I don't know anything about you, but I know you well enough. I ensnared you easily, didn't I?" Riddle was walking near Harry, but he was also curling away.

The man was circling him. Harry angled his head toward the floor, keeping his eyes a single spot on the carpet but keeping his senses wide open to the circling man. If Riddle attacked, Harry would be ready. "It was a straightforward trap, Riddle, nothing to be too smug about. I simply made an error."

"So you can acknowledge your mistakes, that is certainly reassuring." He stopped directly behind Harry, his face inching closer to the younger's exposed neck. "But we both know that if Macnair wasn't as 'tainted' as he was, you would have never fallen for that trap. So my plan to capture you wasn't as elementary as you think, was it?"

Harry tore his eyes away from his spot on the carpet and leveled Riddle a blank look. "Who told you I was an Empath?" He suddenly froze as soon as the question left his mouth. "Snape," he intoned darkly. With the exception of Dumbledore and his parents, who were all dead, Severus Snape was the only one who really knew the depth of Harry's ability. Ron, Ginny, and Sirius only believed Harry had a simple attunement to other's emotions.

Of course, Hermione was also another individual who now knew the extent of Harry's ability. But he didn't think Riddle had looked into her mind. It had to be Snape.

"Ashley Locke."

Hating to be taken off-guard, Harry frowned, searching his mind for the name. It sounded vaguely familiar, but… "Slore's victim? The woman?" Harry inquired, remembering reading about her in the _Prophet._ How could she have possibly known that he was an Empath?

"Kingsley interviewed her. She told him that she felt 'safe' with you, that she was overcome with a sense of trust with you. I came to the conclusion that _Custos _must be an Empath. After all, how could he possibly make his victims smile like that in the throngs of such pain? How could he know for certain that his victims were guilty of such crimes?" Riddle supplied. "I was suspicious of you from the start, so I merely confirmed with Severus that Harry Potter was also an Empath. Imagine my surprise that both _Custos _and Harry Potter had the same gift of Empathy."

Harry's gaze drifted to the left of Riddle and he stared at nothing in particular. He had believed he hadn't left anything behind for the Aurors to incriminate him. However, Riddle was quick to come to a conclusion regarding his Empathy. Harry's only saving grace was that there weren't many people who knew of his ability. Even if Kingsley had come to the same conclusion as Riddle, he wouldn't be able to find a citizen in Britain who was an Empath as powerful as _Custos_ unless he asked the right person.

"You didn't know I was _Custos_ for certain until the very end," Harry pressed. He noticed Riddle had continued his slow and lazy circling. The tension was growing and both men were itching to show the other who held the higher ground. Harry would be ready to meet whatever Riddle threw at him. "Why were you so bloody persistent?"

Riddle flashed his teeth. "Because I'm never wrong."

Harry's nostrils flared and he tightened his fingers on his dagger. What he wouldn't give to drive his blade through the man's heart. Harry knew he was arrogant, but Riddle was more so. "Careful, Tommy, you don't want to jinx yourself."

And then the tension grew taut before snapping. Riddle lunged and Harry readied for the attack. The man reached for his face, but Harry grabbed his wrist before it came in contact with him, twisting it down and away from him. He then forced the cold dagger against Riddle's exposed wrist, pressing the sharp edge against the vulnerable skin that covered the bundle of veins and arteries. Riddle looked positively ecstatic and his wandless magic flared, eagerly encircling Harry's ankles and torso. Without much exertion, Riddle pushed Harry's back into the wall, magically binding him.

Harry grimaced as his dagger slipped from his fingers. He may overpower Riddle with physical attacks, but Riddle was still larger and he was still more powerful when it came to magic. And yet, wandless magic certainly wasn't something that was unstoppable.

He had wanted to wait to reveal all his cards, but he just couldn't stand looking at the man's smug expression any longer. And he most certainly couldn't stand being pinned submissively to the wall or to a chair.

While his torso may have been pressed forcibly into the wall, his hands were free, a large mistake on Riddle's part. Or maybe the man had left his hands free because he wanted Harry to fight further. No matter the reason, as soon as the man came within distance, Harry encircled his left hand around Riddle's right elbow, pinching the brachial artery. His other hand curled around Riddle's neck and pressed into the jugular vein.

"Funny thing about human anatomy," Harry breathed as Riddle's wandless magic disappeared suddenly from his torso and legs. "Muggles and wizard truly are built differently."

Riddle was taken aback and he struggled against Harry, using his left hand and cupping the younger's jaw. The man was too shocked to achieve anything substantial and Harry continued to press the artery and vein, relishing this feeling of power.

"Wizards have a magical core attached to their heart. Of course, if a Muggle were to look inside a wizard, they wouldn't be able to distinguish the core from the rest of the heart." Harry considered Riddle, watching the man try to control his reactions. "If you apply even the slightest pressure against the jugular vein and the brachial artery at the same time, you can cut of a wizard's magical core. You'll have to determine the wand arm, of course, but it's relatively easy. What is it like, having no magic, Tom?"

Crimson eyes watched him. Somehow, their earlier panic had morphed into hunger. Riddle then curled his left hand more firmly around Harry's throat, as if trying to mimic what Harry was doing to him. He took a step closer, leaning himself completely against Harry. "You asked me what made me so persistent that you were _Custos_," the man whispered hoarsely through Harry's unrelenting hold. "Your mask slipped that day in your office and I saw a worthy adversary. I refused to let you go."

Harry chuckled lowly, pleased with the response. Something pleasant twisted low in his stomach and he released Riddle before he could pinpoint the sensation. He pushed the man away, tearing the long-fingered hand away from his neck. They both inhaled deeply and assessed the other, knowing they were at a stalemate. For now.

"What do you want, Riddle?" Harry inquired calmly, picking up his dagger and pushing past the taller man. "Do you want to turn me into the Aurors? Or do you want to control me?"

"If I have to pick one or the other, I suppose I'll choose the latter," the man replied dryly. Riddle's magic then flickered in delight at finally being existent once again. An ice-like tendril licked Harry's heels but refrained from doing anything further. "I want you to work for me."

Entering the kitchen, Harry rummaged through the fridge, paying no heed to the Dark Lord in his living room. Work for Riddle? As much as he hated to admit it, the idea _did_ intrigue him. It meant Harry could be closer to Riddle, closer to his mere presence. The tension between them was deliciously plausible and stimulating. It would be lovely to be around someone who would always challenge him and amuse him. But it was also nonnegotiable. There was no way in hell Harry would ever work for the man, simply because he didn't answer to anyone, especially Riddle.

He grabbed the half-eaten sandwich and tore into it. He hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon and his stomach was painfully empty. "And what would you have me do?" Harry wondered cheekily. "Kidnap the Muggleborn children from their home? Or maybe I could be the one to stage their deaths?"

Now that he thought back to Riddle's proposal to separate the Muggle world and Wizarding world completely, he wondered what he was going to do about it. He certainly couldn't stand by and allow Riddle to tear families apart like that. Muggleborns had every right to stay with their Muggle parents.

"Amusing," the Minster praised. "But we'll stick with something we both know you're good at for now. Killing."

This caused Harry to pause. He swallowed dryly, throwing his sandwich down on the kitchen table as he leveled Riddle with a grave look. "I am no assassin nor am I a mercenary for hire."

Riddle made an 'awing' gesture. "I apologize, I thought you would prefer the term _assassin _as opposed to a serial killer." He cocked a shapely eyebrow. "Or do you not consider yourself a serial killer either, Harry?"

"I'm neither." He turned his back on Riddle. "Judging from the rosy bunch of cult-followers you already have, I'm sure you can find a suitable assassin amongst them."

"My followers have their talents and their specialties. Most of them can easily wave their wands and mutter the words '_Avada Kedavra'. _But I'm not looking for a simple killer. I'm looking for an intelligent fighter who can use multiple of resources to accomplish his task. You have a remarkable way to stalk, hunt, and execute your target without detection. Not many are as graceful as you."

Harry wondered how many times he referred to his killings as 'graceful'. He had never outright called the killing itself graceful, but he had admired the process, the hunt. It was an exhilarating feeling for him and it was even better knowing the end result would get rid of one less monster in this world. But he had never expected someone else to admire his work.

"No," he said firmly, turning back to Riddle. "I don't like you. I won't work for you. And I don't kill simple politicians who end up pissing you off." He petted his sandwich, wishing his Doppelgänger hadn't eaten the other half of it. It was surprisingly good. "Is that all you wanted to discuss?"

Riddle took a step further into the kitchen, his expression impassive. His crimson eyes hardly ever wavered from Harry since their scuffle against the wall. "You'll work for me," the man said airily. "But I'll make it worth your while."

Harry frowned. "Enlighten me then."

The Dark Lord pulled out a seat at the kitchen table, motioning Harry to sit. When the younger wizard refused to make even the slightest move, Riddle sat down himself, waiting patiently for Harry to do the same. "We're both adults, are we not?" the older man mocked.

Reluctantly, Harry sat across from Riddle, staring at the politician… who happened to also be a Dark Lord. He had to tread carefully around Tom Riddle. Riddle wouldn't merely rub it in that he knew Harry was _Custos _and then simply walk away. There was going to be repercussions of Riddle knowing what he did. It was obvious the man had ulterior motives. If he didn't have his own agenda, he would have helped the Aurors in capturing Harry.

Riddle tugged at his sleeves before clasping his hands on top the kitchen table. He sized Harry up, most likely not finding anything past the blank slate. "I am aware of your… taste preference when it comes to your victims. You can be assured that your targets will be tainted quite thoroughly, perhaps more. They will be high-profiled men and women who have committed immoral acts or have made others—"

"Do their work for them?" Harry interrupted impatiently. He shook his head once, his fingers twitching in anxiety. "You don't understand my own morals, Riddle. I eliminate trash who kill innocent men and women _themselves _and never get convicted. I kill the men who rape children repeatedly and walk away from it. I don't kill politicians who make other people do their dirty work. If that were the case, then you would be six feet under by now, wouldn't you?" He gave a fake smile. "Despite that strong Occlumency barrier you have up, we both know what a corrupt person you really are."

"I wonder… who is more corrupt, you or me?" Riddle leaned against his side of the table, peering at Harry in curiosity. "What makes you different from the men you hunt, Harry?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry hissed, hating those words. They were remarkably similar to what Hermione had said to him that night.

"Erik Slore targeted healthy-looking men and women. Estella Zabini hunted men with money. Albert Kinley hunted young girls with blonde hair. Harry Potter hunts after men and women who are particularly _tainted_." Riddle paused, his expression oddly serious. "I don't see much of a difference there, Harry. In the end, all of you are killers, serial killers with particular preferences."

Underneath the table, Harry's fingers tapped relentlessly against his legs. It took a great deal of willpower to hold his temper and keep his expression clear. Hermione had tried to tell him the same thing. Yet somehow, he could deal with her tears more than he could deal with Riddle's utmost curious and calm expression. He didn't want to hear this. They didn't understand. No one did. How could they stand there and judge when they weren't suffocated by the taint? By those immoral emotions?

They couldn't _taste _how vile it was.

"Get out," Harry whispered darkly. "Go ahead and turn me into the Ministry. I'd rather rot in the cells of Azkaban before I even consider your proposition."

Riddle held up a hand in surrender, backpedaling and soothing the conversation. "You've mistaken me. If your friends found out you were _Custos, _they would most likely reprimand you, hate you. They don't understand quite like I do. Not everyone is as white and black as they like to think. I have no qualms about murder. I only have a problem with people who blindside their killings. You like to pretend you kill for the sake of the Wizarding world, but that's not the case, is it?"

"Spare me the moral talk, Riddle."

Cocking his head to the side, Riddle smiled darkly. "You are no hero, Harry. You are a killer. You enjoy it."

Harry pounced forward in his chair, leaning his stomach against the table. He didn't want to hear it. "I said spare me the moralities. If you have a proposition, then tell me. Otherwise you can leave."

Riddle didn't appear displeased, even when his intended discussion was being continuously stopped by Harry. Instead, he appeared satisfied, as if Harry had confirmed whatever it was he was scheming. Nonetheless, he dropped the subject entirely and picked up where he had left off earlier. "The targets I would have you pursue are confirmed to be the source of genocide and other crimes. You'll have no problem fitting them into your preferred category of victims. In fact, I'd think you'd enjoy the challenge their high-profile security would have to offer."

It wasn't that he was agreeing to Riddle's proposition in the slightest, but Harry wanted to make one thing clear. "I wouldn't be a simple dog, Riddle. I _would_ be able to view the evidence of their wrongdoings and decide for myself if they warrant any further action."

Riddle didn't bat an eyelash. "Of course," he conceded. His expression was hard to read, save for his madly amused eyes.

Harry leaned back against his chair, scrutinizing the unruffled Dark Lord. That was a lot of power Riddle would grant him. That grant of power could mean two things, really. Riddle had other pressing needs for Harry other than a mere assassin. Or Riddle was merely lying and Harry wouldn't get to view the evidence of the victims' wrongdoings.

Whatever game Riddle was playing, Harry wanted no part in it. "While it is tempting to know what goes on in Minister Riddle's scheming life, I'd still have to decline."

Silence stretched between them and both men gazed at the other in perfect indifference. Harry wasn't an idiot. He knew Riddle could do a lot of damage to him now that he knew Harry was _Custos. _In fact, the possibilities were endless and all of the possible outcomes ended tragically. This compromise Riddle wanted to strike up wasn't entirely a bad option, but Harry still refused to work for Riddle unless the benefits outweighed the costs.

"I will teach you Occlumency." Riddle gambled again, throwing another scrap at Harry.

Harry's eyes widened comically and he snickered. "Are you trying to get me to work for you? Because having _you _in my mind would only be comparable to extreme torture."

"You need to learn Occlumency and only a Master Legilimens can teach you. A Master Occlumens may be able to talk you through constructing a shield, but only a Legilimens can truly assist you, especially an Empath as powerful as yourself." Riddle tapped his fingers against the table in controlled strikes, whereas Harry's fingers were still beating relentlessly against his leg, away from prying eyes. "I have one last bargain for you."

Pressing a curled fist against his mouth, Harry smiled thinly. "If this last bargain is as compelling as you teaching me Occlumency, then you can forget it, Riddle." He had already tried to get one Master Legilimens to teach him Occlumency. And that one time was enough.

The Minister hardly found Harry's comment amusing as he pressed forward. "I have endless resources at my disposal. I have contacts in different countries. I even have enough spies in other governments to create an uprising. They can be at your disposal for _one _purpose."

He hated it, but he took the bait in one gulp. "And what purpose would that be?"

Riddle's eyes gleamed predatorily. And in that moment, Harry knew he was screwed and hopelessly caught in Riddle's web. "I will help you find every last one of your parents' murderers."

Time stood still and Harry stopped breathing. His vision blurred and his fingers twitched uncontrollably. Heat spread across his chest and up his neck and ears. He couldn't find it in himself to veil the slack surprise across his features and he knew Riddle was taking it all in with sharp observation. _Damn him. _

"I thought you might like that."

Harry bowed his head, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He knew it was an act of weakness, but compared to what he really wanted to do, it was really only mild. He needed to get himself under control. He needed to remind himself that the man sitting across from him was capable of unperformed promises and empty reassurances. This man was dangerous and he could easily turn Harry inside out with a few simple words if he knew how weak he truly was.

Riddle had found out Harry's weakness, while Harry only found a sliver of Riddle's Achilles heel. A woman's portrait seemed oddly tame compared to the crazy mess of Harry's tragedy. And Riddle was playing on the complexity of the situation, promising order and finality.

"How did you know?" Harry asked hoarsely. "I made sure what happened to my family stayed out of the public eye. How did you know there was more than one murderer?" His hands fell to his lap and he stared stonily at Riddle.

The Minister only shrugged indifferently. "James Potter was a notorious Auror, was he not? It would have taken more than one wizard to take him down."

"_Liar,_" Harry hissed angrily. "Who told you?" The thought of Riddle knowing so much made him vulnerable. _Damn it._ Those crimson eyes watching him held taunting awareness. Riddle knew everything. And the only one to give him that knowledge was a man Harry was beginning to hate more and more.

He stood up abruptly, feeling hot rage. "No deal." Stalking around the table, he placed one hand on the back of Riddle's chair and another flat on the table. He leaned in close, hinting with his physical proximity that he wasn't afraid of the man. "Go ahead and make my life hell, Riddle, because I don't intend to go down without a fight."

Riddle casually curled his long-fingered hand around Harry's arm, tugging him closer. "Don't be an idiot. You're letting your pride get in the way of common sense." He tsked at Harry's stubborn face. "I didn't want it to come down to this. I can be a dangerous enemy. Until now, I've been generally mild because I _like _you."

Harry blinked, unimpressed. "Ironic, I've been just as mild." He stared into the slit-crimson eyes. Despite the severity of the situation, he felt something giddy stir within his stomach at their nearness.

The man then stood up, causing Harry to lean away. "I will give you a week. Think over my proposition." He was a good head taller than Harry and he used it to take an advancing step forward, though Harry held his ground firmly. Taking advantage of the younger wizard's stubborn immobility, Riddle reached out and stroked his cheek, his crimson eyes bright. "You are at a disadvantage, love. While you and I can play the game well, you need to remember _you _have others tying you down. You may find their company tedious, but you still have a twisted sense of duty to protect the Weasleys, Miss Granger, and your godfather. Isn't that right?"

Harry slapped away the hand on his face, reluctantly realizing that Riddle was right. If the Dark Lord got serious in making Harry's life miserable, he knew destroying Harry wouldn't be as effective as he wanted. He would make the Weasleys struggle and he would destroy both Sirius and Hermione. As much as Harry found their company unfavorable at times, he still loved them and felt obligated to protect them. This wasn't just a game between Riddle and him anymore. He had other people he needed to think about.

"Think long and hard about your decision, Harry." Riddle made his way over to the front door. "Who knows, you may even enjoy working for me."

"Highly unlikely, you slimy bastard," Harry growled lowly just before Riddle slammed the door shut behind him. As soon as Riddle Disapparated, Harry gripped the edge of the kitchen table and flung it away from him. He seethed into his cupped hands and fell to his knees.

He was tangled completely in Riddle's strings. It would only take a slight jerk from Riddle's hands and Harry would be obliged to follow wherever he led him.

Somehow, this outcome was worse than rotting away in Azkaban.

**{& Darkness}**

Paperwork.

It was all Harry was consumed with for the past two days. Coming back to reality wasn't all about masks and socializing, it was about _work _as well. Harry had only swept the surface of his Doppelgänger's memories involving his workload. At the time, he hadn't thought he would be coming back so soon. He had only been concerned about the Doppelgänger's interactions with people.

With the Doppelgänger's sudden death, it was impossible for Harry to know what the hell he was supposed to be doing at work.

His lack of preparation had earned him a few odd stares, but Harry had been able to catch back up in a matter of hours. That was one positive to working in the Department for Magical Games and Sports. While there was a lot of paperwork and authorizations for games, it wasn't exactly complex work.

Briefly, Harry wondered what Riddle had thought when he saw the dead Harry Potter in his office and an unconscious Lucius Malfoy. Most likely, as soon as Harry had killed the Doppelgänger, the Dark Magic would have eaten the body quickly down to the bare bones. The Dark Lord hadn't even mentioned the Doppelgänger in their conversation the other day. Then again, they had been busy discussing other pressing topics.

Among paperwork, Harry kept busy trying to remain sane in the presence of Ron and Sirius during lunches. The absence had been good for Harry, but horrible for what little social skills he had left. Luckily, he was skilled at acting. He did a fair job keeping up the good humor and slightly troubled personality. After all, he _was _still reminded of his parents' murder from time to time and Ron and Sirius knew and respected that. Those brief and fake drawbacks had been his only reprieve, as it gave him an excuse to be silent.

He had yet to interact with Hermione. And Ginny. He supposed he would see them on Friday night. Before his Doppelgänger, Harry had reserved the majority of the weekends for himself. As soon as the Doppelgänger stepped in, those quiet times had disappeared and Harry wondered if he could take them back without anyone being suspicious.

He couldn't imagine keeping up this act during the weekend as well. Weekends were _his _time.

"He's not talking," Sirius murmured quietly to Ron and Harry that day at lunch. "McLaggen could be going to trial for _Custos' _crimes."

Ron was gapping like a fish and Harry altered his features into amusement as the boy turned to look at him. "Does it surprise you that much, Ron?" Harry inquired lightly, grinning at Sirius.

The surprise coming from Ron was potent, but so was the twisted glee in hopes that McLaggen _would _be taken to Azkaban. Even Ron had tainted emotions at times, but in all actuality, Ron was a pure soul. As was the others Harry surrounded himself with. Their purity made it easier for him to be the old Harry. If he had been surrounded by heavily tainted individuals, it would bring out his defensive and suspicious side.

Sirius swept a hand through his unruly hair and grinned lopsidedly. "No, really, McLaggen refuses to take Truth Serum and he refused to lend any of his memories." His grey eyes looked in between Ron and Harry. "Even if he isn't _Custos_, his reluctance to even cooperate makes him look guilty."

And Harry knew it would take a great deal of sacrifice for Cormac to even agree to those terms. The boy had a few tightly kept secrets that prevented him from cooperating with the Aurors. He wouldn't reveal himself unless he came to the realization that he _would _be convicted for _Custos' _crimes. Harry wasn't an idiot, he had targeted Cormac as his scapegoat for the secrets he was harboring _and _because he was predictable.

It was how he had gotten the boy's wand. It was why he knew Cormac would be silent for quite some time. It was why he had hunted Erik Slore at exactly eight o'clock on Friday evening.

But all good things would come to an end. Cormac was a smart boy. He would realize that the shame that came with his secrets would be far less than the sentence he would receive for being _Custos. _The boy would confess and Harry could go back to hunting his victims.

"I hope you aren't disclosing anything confidential, Auror Black."

Harry grimaced at the tray of food as Ron and Sirius whipped their heads around to identify the speaker. Harry wished he was as privileged as they were to not know the owner of that voice without looking. Tom Riddle had been a constant presence in his mind for two days straight. The proposition, the bargains, the consequences, all of it had been carefully analyzed by Harry.

He had played around with alternatives. He could turn himself into the Ministry. Unfortunately, Harry knew Riddle wouldn't be so easily stopped. The Dark Lord would still consider it his goal to destroy the lives of the Weasleys, Hermione, and Sirius. Then Harry wondered if he could somehow protect his old friends while maintaining a small war with Riddle. It could be possible, but Harry's attention would be spread too thin. He wouldn't be able to put as much concentration on Riddle as he wanted to, like he _needed _to. With a foe like Riddle, Harry would need no distractions. Having Sirius and the others to protect at the same time would be too much of an inconvenience.

Another alternative did come to him. It was one that had always been the back of his mind but he had always pushed it away. Killing himself was… certainly a way out, but somehow, Harry thought it was a cowardly way out. He wouldn't be able to commit the act and be assured that he had gotten one over on Riddle. Riddle would think _he _had won if Harry had committed suicide.

That wouldn't be an option, at least not right now.

Throughout his scheming, a small voice was at the back of his head, whispering reminders that Riddle had promised to find his parents' murderer. The small voice was exactly what the Dark Lord had intended when he had offered that piece of bargain. He knew Harry would find it hard to resist accepting.

"Not at all, Minister Riddle." Sirius gave a breathless chuckle that faltered at the end.

Harry's gaze flickered up at Riddle, somehow finding it amusing that someone else had to share in his misery of wearing a mask during the day. His amusement was easily doused when he reminded himself _who _was sharing in his misery. Knowing Riddle, the man probably got some sick enjoyment out of parading around as a friendly and honest politician.

"Ronald, it's good to see you again," Riddle crooned with a sharp nod toward Ron. "How is your training going for the Auror Department?"

Ron's flattery was difficult to taste. Harry tried to focus more on Sirius' feelings of mistrust and dislike.

"It's going decent," the boy replied eagerly, gazing up at the Minister with stars in his bright eyes. "I have a few months left of training. Hopefully I can hold out until then."

Riddle chuckled good-heartedly. "I'm meeting with Auror Shacklebolt this afternoon. Perhaps I can put in a good word for you. You seem like an honest and hard-working individual. The Auror ranks could use your demeanor."

My, my, Riddle was laying it on thick today. The Minister knew just as much as Harry that Ron was a slacker. Ron wanted the title, but he didn't want to dedicate any time or effort that came with that Auror certification.

For a long minute, Ron was silent, struggling for words and turning red with obsequiousness. "Well— I- I would be honored, Minister." His tongue was too tied to get out anymore words of praise and sugary overenthusiasm.

"And how are you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry widened his eyes in wonder and his eyelashes fluttered. A wide and sentimental smile stretched his lips as he gazed adoringly at Riddle. "Oh, Minister, I'm doing simply wonderful, thanks for asking." He attempted to mimic Ron in the admiration department, but wondered if it leaned more toward the creepy and sadistic side of it.

Ron was indignant and Sirius was amused. Harry grinned boyishly and went back to his mashed potatoes with extra vigor. They tasted like old parchment to him, but he gave the impression they were particularly delicious today.

"Good to hear, good to hear. It's rare to see you in such a good mood. What has put you in such high spirits?" Riddle was a relentless presence at the end of the table, leaning closer to Harry than the others. The other occupants in the Ministry lunchroom were peering at Riddle in curiosity, as it wasn't common for the Minister to take lunch in the cafeteria.

"I can only imagine it has something to do with your presence," Harry quipped dryly, earning an approving grin from Sirius.

Riddle laughed deeply, patting Harry on the back. His thumb discreetly stroked the sensitive skin beneath Harry's ear before he cupped the younger man's shoulder possessively. "I wanted to apologize again for my actions earlier this month, Mr. Potter." He shook Harry's shoulder to emphasize each word. "It was unprofessional of me to accuse you of such crimes. Please, if there is anything I can do to remedy what damage I've done, let me know."

_You can start by taking your hand off my shoulder and shoving it up your arsehole, you bloody idiot. _Harry only smiled pleasantly, nodding in consideration. The man was apologizing for the little fiasco earlier this month when he had threatened to use Legilimency on Hermione. Harry had schemed up a plan to throw him off his track by telling Sirius and Kingsley about Riddle's threat. Both men had been furious and had confronted Riddle at his office. That was the first time Harry had used his Doppelgänger to discourage Riddle's suspicion.

It had worked, albeit just briefly.

"Anything, Minister?" Harry turned to look up at the tall wizard wickedly. "We're holding a Quidditch club for younger children this month. It would be great if you could have a hand in it as well. The kids would love it."

Riddle hated Quidditch. And he most likely hated children. Harry's intention was to make the man suffer without making it appear as if he was intentionally doing so. Sirius and Ron wouldn't find any fault in his request. Knowing how busy Riddle was, Harry was certain the Minister would find it incredibly inconvenient.

The hand tightened on his shoulder and Riddle smiled pleasantly. "It would be my pleasure." He then released Harry and took a retreating step back. "You three enjoy the rest of your lunch."

Ron mumbled something incoherent after the Minister and all three men watched as Riddle settled down at one of the tables across from them. It was a pure-blood table galore. The lunch menu must have consisted of roasted quail with supple potato wedges and fresh green beans. Usually the pure-bloods found it beneath them to sit in the lunchroom.

Harry stabbed his piece of chicken, musing on Riddle's reaction to his request. While the tightening hand had given away the man's true feelings on the situation, Riddle hadn't even batted an eyelash when it came down to it. Harry wondered what he would have felt if he hadn't felt Riddle's warning squeeze on his shoulder and had only just seen the man's easy agreement for participating at the Quidditch event. Because he had been aiming to make the man suffer, Harry would have felt thwarted if Riddle hadn't reacted the way he had imagined.

It suddenly dawned on Harry that he was going about this proposition with Riddle the wrong way. Why should Harry drag his feet and struggle against working for Riddle? That reaction was what the Dark Lord expected. Riddle _wanted _to see Harry suffer. He wanted Harry to struggle, to fight.

What if Harry amiably agreed to work for Riddle as if it were something he _wanted _to do? As if it weren't a burden, a confinement? Harry could easily imagine Riddle being taken aback. The man would be extremely suspicious and he would be dissatisfied that Harry didn't give him the reaction he was looking for. He wanted Harry to feel submissive and defeated. If Harry continued to fight the binds that Riddle was putting on him, he would just accentuate that Riddle was overpowering him.

No, Harry would remain standing tall with this impending proposition with Riddle. He would force the man to take a step back and realize that he had invited the threat into his territory. After all, Harry _did _intend to gain as much knowledge on Riddle as possible. He would also use up the man's resources to find his parents' murderers. He could essentially destroy Riddle from the inside out.

Yes, he had a feeling that this could work out very well.

"Hi, Harry," a woman greeted to his immediate right.

Before he could turn, a hand curled underneath his chin and turned his head for him. His body stiffened automatically and a pair of lips pressed against his own. Harry flinched backward, startling Ginny into jerking back as well. Her wide brown eyes looked on the verge of shock and Harry's quick thinking recovered the situation smoothly.

"You startled me," he laughed silently and reached for her. Curling his hands around her fingers, he tugged her forward and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. "I had forgotten you were visiting me today." And he really, really had. In fact, this whole situation with Ginny had been placed in the back of his mind. He vaguely remembered finding out his Doppelgänger had rekindled a romance with Ginny. The two hadn't done anything besides a kiss here and there, but the Doppelgänger had definitely started a relationship with Ginny again.

A romance was definitely not something he wanted right now. Or ever. He didn't _do _romances. It was a rarity that he experienced sexual urges, and when he was feeling particularly restless, he would perform a quick glamour. Men were his preferred targets, only because he could dominate them quickly enough and never have to worry about the strings attached. Women though, Ginny especially, would complicate things greatly.

He had been with her for a few years during Hogwarts and also before his parents' death. Afterward, he said it was too difficult and they had parted ways. With Ginny hanging around him, he now lost a good chunk of privacy, time, and sanity. It was vital to get rid of her as smoothly and quickly as possible.

He smiled at her as she sat between Ron and him. He kept one ear open as she began talking about Quidditch practice. He nodded in time and engaged her in conversation when needed. Meanwhile, he began scheming.

Always scheming.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warnings: **Mentions of child rape, gore, and Harry's temporary slip of sanity.

_Thanks for your reviews last chapter. It always means so much to me! _

**11. Chapter Eleven**

**_ 1996_**

"_She's young." _

_Sirius muffled his laughter behind his hand as he watched James and Lily stare at Remus in shock. It didn't come much to a surprise to hear his little cousin and best mate were having a baby. They had dated for a year. Granted, their relationship was progressing quickly, but Sirius found he wasn't as harried over it as James and Lily, the traditional couple. _

"_She's twenty-three, well able to make her own decisions," Remus replied firmly. While his words were confident and his tone strong, his eyes gave way to the battling conflict he was experiencing. "At least, that's what she keeps telling me. Each morning. And night." _

"_Oi, Moony, I thought the wedding came first _then _the drooling brat," Sirius teased. "Weren't you twenty-years-old when you had Harry, Lily? What's the big deal?" Though, he already knew what had her taken aback. It was the age difference between Remus and Tonks. Personally, Sirius thought Remus was a lucky bastard. _

"_She's so young," Lily whispered again, ignoring Sirius scoffing behind her. She recovered after James touched her arm and she blinked at Remus. "But… I'm so happy for you Remus. She brings out the good in you." The redheaded woman took a step forward and embraced Remus tightly. "You will make a great father." _

_James clapped Remus on the back in congratulations. _

"_We're engaged," Remus informed, his face bright and the deep shadows in his eyes not so noticeable anymore. "Hopefully we can get married before she starts to show." His hands began to wring. "I'm so nervous. I know she's the right one for me. She makes me feel _human_, she means everything to me. But what if… what if I hurt her? Hurt her—our child? What if the child… what if it turns out like me?"_

"_Hey," Lily soothed. "We've all known you since you were eleven, Remus. You have _never _harmed one of us and you will never harm Tonks or your child. And if your son or daughter turns out to be a werewolf, you should be comforted with the fact that Wolfsbane is available." Lily ran a soothing hand down Remus' arm. "Just because you're a werewolf, Remus, doesn't mean you should deny yourself happiness and normalcy… and love." _

_Sirius grinned lopsidedly at Remus when the tawny-haired man glanced his way. Lily truly was the best person to have around in situations like these. Sirius would have just scoffed at Remus' insecurities and offered to accompany him to the pub. With Lily, she could say those things and not get uncomfortable about it. _

_He sighed, thinking he needed to get going on his own Marauder heir. The second-generation of Marauders would never be complete without Padfoot Junior!_

**{Dreams}**

Harry stood in the stands of the pitch, looking down at the wizards beginning to ready things for the Junior Quidditch camp. Things had to be organized, repainted, rebuilt, and set up before the children could begin the camp. Brooms had to be charmed by age restricted speeds and the ground needed to be spelled to turn into cushions as soon as someone fell from their broom. The camp would run for a week straight during the Holidays, giving the chance for younger Hogwarts students to make an appearance if they so desired.

Age groups ranged from seven-year-olds to twelve-year-olds. The early shift would involve seven and eight-year-olds and a few beginning nine-year-olds. Basic flying training would be the aim for the younger kids and getting them familiar with brooms. The other ages would start in the afternoon and would include more games and higher velocity brooms.

The kids always got a kick out of it. And considering Harry was able to convince a few regional professional Quidditch players to run the camp, the kids were able to meet some of their idols. He was sure Ron would be here, giddily jumping up and down at the appearance of the Chudley Cannons.

As soon as Harry secured a position at the Department, he had set up this camp. Last year had been its first year, and already, the number of children signing up had increased. Originally, he had come up with the idea of a Junior Quidditch camp from his father. James had often commented on how the Department of Magical Games and Sports should hold an event for younger children to get familiar with the sport.

"I think your father would be proud if he could see you now," a voice commented from behind him, as if reading his mind.

Harry turned, eyeing the short man blankly before a small smile graced his lips. "Hello, Peter."

Peter Pettigrew matched Harry's smile with one of his own and took it as an initiative to approach closer. It had been around two years ago since Harry had last seen Peter, and that was at his parents' funeral. Before that, Peter didn't make it much of a habit to visit his old friends. As far as Harry remembered, Peter had always been the butt-end of the Marauders' jokes. When Harry had been around seven, Peter had finally had enough and had left James, Sirius, and… Remus behind.

He hadn't really taken much notice of Peter at the funeral, but now he was able to clearly see that Peter lost a significant amount of weight. His hair was cut extremely short, his balding hair not as noticeable. Blue eyes were wide and intelligent as they assessed the commotion on the pitch next to Harry.

"You look well," Harry praised truly, impressed. "What have you been up to?"

Peter smiled in the distance, his hands patiently curled into the pockets of his dark coat. "I actually just started teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year." He turned to peer at Harry. "I heard you got yourself a position on the English National Quidditch team as Seeker right out of school. Pity your injury prevented you from continuing. I heard you were brilliant." He motioned toward the pitch. "But I see you've recovered well enough to get a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

Harry nodded, musing on Peter's sudden appearance. It was odd the man was approaching him now, years after Lily and James passed.

"How old are you now, Harry? Twenty?"

"Twenty-one," he corrected civilly.

Peter studied him closely. "You looked remarkably like James' clone as a child. It seems, with age, you're beginning to resemble Lily far more." He took a hand out of his pocket and motioned to Harry's glasses. "Save for the glasses and the hair, of course."

Harry fiddled with his glasses. They were more of an accessory now than anything. His vision had been corrected a few years ago. _Custos _never needed them and Harry Potter needed them just for the sake of appearing like the old Harry. Truth be told, they were cumbersome and awkward. "What brought you here today, Peter? I'd imagine Hogwarts was let out not too long ago. Stopping by the Quidditch pitch probably isn't on your list of priorities, especially so late at night." He asked it airily and politely, yet suspicion did creep into his tone.

The man's face dimmed and he turned back to the pitch. "I've come to deliver a message to you. From the Dark Lord."

His mask slipped and he studied Peter's turned face. "He has you in his web as well, I see."

Peter cleared his throat, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eye. "The Dark Lord has helped me see my strengths and improve on them. He taught me I can stand alone, that I don't need James and Sirius to prop me up. I owe him a great deal." He paused. "He doesn't have me in a _web, _Harry. He has my firm and unending loyalty." The man's emotions were overpowered by a firm sense of trust and loyalty; it only added complete truth to his words.

Harry watched Peter closely, now understanding Riddle's overall process of gathering so many allies. The man had to be in his late seventies at least. All these years, he's kept up a polite diplomatic demeanor and had formed connections with the people around him. Riddle even went a step further and aided the men and women who needed his assistance. These helpless victims, or potential allies, would form an unbreakable loyalty with Riddle out of deep respect and gratitude.

It was what happened with Peter and his insecurities. It was probably what happened with Snape and his problems with the Marauders. Riddle shaped his struggling allies into his ideal followers. And Harry realized that he was another 'case'. Riddle wanted to fix him. He wanted to mold Harry into the perfect solider.

This realization didn't change anything; it only reminded Harry he needed to step lightly around Riddle. In fact, coming to this conclusion wasn't all that surprising. He had a general notion that Riddle was a master manipulator. And he had already had his suspicions that Riddle wanted to use some of that manipulation on him.

"What was the message?" Harry inquired with a clipped tone. Riddle, bloody _Riddle. _They were now on to passing messages through man-owls? Well, Harry could certainly work with _that_. It was Friday, the day Harry's grace period ended for debating on what he wanted to do with their proposition.

He had wanted to see Riddle's face when he countered the man's attempt at domination. But he could work with Peter as the delivery.

"He wants to know your answer regarding—"

"No need to finish that, Peter." Harry smiled broadly. "Tell him I am looking forward to working _with _him. I believe this can be a great opportunity for the both of us. In fact, I'm eager to see what kind of work he has for me." He wondered if he was laying it on thick. He had tried to pitch his voice pleasant enough, the same tone he would likely use in discussing Riddle's impending destruction.

Peter's emotions flared in surprise and he offered a curious smile. "He had predicted you would send me off with a few scathing remarks, he never said you'd be looking forward to working with him."

"Well, you did inspire me with your story, Peter. If the Dark Lord helped you as you claimed, I'm sure he is a decent man." _Highly unlikely, that bastard. _Harry took a step back. "He will need to come to _me_ about the first assignment, though. I am rather busy." He looked at Peter from beneath lowered lashes, pondering on the reason Riddle sent Peter of all people. "Why did he send you, anyway?" Harry's lips curled at the edges and he tsked. "He isn't trying to get out of working at the Junior Quidditch camp, is he?" he wiggled his finger.

Peter's eyes widened and he gave a true laugh. "I didn't know he agreed to work at your camp, Harry. Highly amusing, considering I don't remember he had an interest in Quidditch."

"Oh, he doesn't," Harry said airily as he turned his back on Peter and began to walk down the stairs of the stands. "He can work the food court."

Peter gave another laugh, oblivious to Harry's malicious smile.

As he did his practiced limp down the stadium, Harry continued to wonder why Peter was sent. _Why_? Was there a motive on Riddle's part? Or had it simply been a coincidence? Did Riddle actually think Harry would have attacked the messenger? It felt _good _to know that Riddle had warned Peter about Harry, that he wouldn't be happy with being pressured about working with him. The man would be suspicious, shocked and displeased when Peter confirmed that Harry was _happy _to do so.

He shuffled closer to the pitch, his eyes coolly turning to the side to observe the woman sitting on the stands. She turned, catching his eyes. "Harry," she greeted casually before turning back around to watch the players set up the Quidditch pitch. "I brought you some Earl Grey."

Harry paused on the step level with her bench. "I didn't think I'd see you. Alone." He sat down next to her, accepting the carrying cup of tea. Refusing to sip the tea until he knew if it was poisoned or not, Harry nodded sharply. "Thank you."

Hermione eyed him. "It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking." She sounded disappointed, sad. "We aren't enemies, Harry."

"Aren't we?" Harry murmured, casting his wand against the cup anyway. It glowed a brief white, indication that there was nothing added. "You haven't made that entirely clear, Hermione." He sipped on the strong tea, allowing his eyes to close in pleasure for just a millisecond. He opened them sharply just as quickly, watching her, observing.

The brunette witch shifted on her bench, curling her cloak tighter around herself in the chilly air. "I've tried to accept the Doppelgänger, but I couldn't. At first, I thought maybe the Doppelgänger would _help _you heal. Then I started to picture you dwelling alone, completely isolated." She sniffed, staring at the players on the pitch. "You would have fallen farther if I hadn't mentioned anything to William Stratton. I didn't know if you would accept my help, so I went to your therapist."

"And what made you realize it was a Doppelgänger, Hermione?"

She turned a steady look on him. "The eyes. You have unnatural eyes, Harry. They are so troubled but they have this manically intelligent glow to them, a predator gleam. Your copy was too innocent, even though you two acted relatively the same." Patting her thighs, she shook her head. "It doesn't _really _matter how I knew. There are larger issues we need to discuss."

He already knew why she was here. Harry smiled thinly and sipped at the tea, wishing he was alone to enjoy such warmth. "McLaggen dug his own grave, I'm afraid. I just gave him a bit of a… nudge."

Hermione pursed her lips. "If he stays in custody and eventually gets convicted of _Custos' _crimes, will you… will you stop all of this?"

Harry paused in sipping, calmly lowering the cup from his lips in order to observe her closely. Honestly, he hadn't expected her to say something along those lines. He had believed she would disprove of his idea to set up Cormac McLaggen, not _support _it. Still, he held his expression firmly and only raised his eyebrows. "_If _that were to happen, yes, I would most certainly consider retiring from the role of _Custos._"

Learning forward, she looked at him imploringly. "_Consider_ retiring? Why won't you retire for certain?"

He waved a careless hand. "Terminology isn't important when I already know McLaggen will weasel himself out of the Ministry's hold."

"I will be willing to stack more evidence against Cormac," she insisted hoarsely, as if a great burden was on her shoulders. "I can plant evidence that points to him as being _Custos. _I'm sure you have items in your possession that could lead back to the crime scenes—"

Acidic green eyes dilated and zeroed in on Hermione with sharp attentiveness. "Let me get this straight. You would like me to give you incriminating evidence? Evidence that could very well lead back to _me _if the right Unspeakable was able to find traces?" He chuckled lowly. "Why don't I simply step inside the Auror Department and wave a flashy banner that claims I'm _Custos_?"

She paled. "No- that's not what I meant, Harry!" Hermione took a steady breath. "You can't even tell the difference between who your allies are and who your enemies are. I'm trying to _help _you."

Opposite of Hermione's passion, Harry met her with cool calm. "It is an incredible sacrifice on your part to offer up your purity for my sake, Hermione." He swirled the spice and scented tea around in his cup, eyeing her with genuine gratitude. "I suppose it is flattering that you would put your job and reputation on the line in order to help me incriminate Cormac, a friend of yours. However, I haven't gotten this far by putting trust in _allies_. Trust is a fickle thing, who knows how quickly it can break and turn sour."

Hermione clasped her hands together and bowed her head. "You've changed," she whispered. "Even from when I confronted you about all this, there was _still _a sliver of the old Harry left. Now, I'm not so sure." She refused to look at him as she contemplated this. "You're paranoid and you're bitter."

"I'm smart," he corrected. "As much as I love you, Hermione, I can't be sure you won't start feeling remorse for supporting me. You could turn on me and I would be virtually exposed."

Brown eyes shot towards him. "Are you even capable of _love_ anymore? You seem so cold, so ruthless…"

He tossed his head in agitation. Her words may have once bothered him, but now, he found he couldn't care a less about her opinion of him. "Of course I love you. And Ron, Sirius and Ginny." _That doesn't mean I have to like you_. "But I want all of you to stay _out _of this. If you are so involved with _Custos_ and if you know so much about it, not only could you be targeted by my enemies, but also the Ministry. I don't want to put you in a web of deceit and lies."

She stood up, her face cool but her eyes emotional. "We are already targeted by proxy, Harry." She then began to climb down the remaining steps of the stands. Before she disappeared, she turned back around. "I hope you'll be able to make it to the Weasley's for Christmas. It could do you some good."

Harry didn't respond, only because she hadn't stayed for an answer. He frowned at nothing in particular. He wondered why she had seen such a dark energy around him. While he hadn't been trying to keep his mask up in her presence, he hadn't done anything to intentionally ward her away either. Perhaps she was right. Maybe he was changing. He supposed surrounding himself around Riddle wasn't helping matters in the least.

He couldn't find it in himself to worry too much about how he was _changing_. Two and a half years had gone by since he'd had this much fun. With Riddle, Harry felt _alive. _It was enjoyable to interact with someone without the need for masks. It was all about intellectuality and dominance. It was exhilarating.

Harry caressed the top of the plastic cup and watched the retreating figure of Hermione. Right now she was struggling on how to act around Harry, how to deal with the knowledge she carried. So far, Harry was certain she hadn't considered going to the authorities. He didn't know how to predict Hermione. Either her passion for sticking to the rules would outweigh her loyalty to Harry or vice versa.

No matter the case, Hermione's knowledge was becoming problematic. While there _were _others who knew Harry was _Custos, _they were all bound to silence out of their loyalty to Riddle.

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. It seemed as if he was also relying on Riddle to keep his dogs quiet. And that certainly wouldn't do. Harry needed to be free from chains and he needed to be able to run if the situation demanded it. Hermione's knowledge needed to go, or at least be subdued. And Harry also needed to come up with an escape plan if Riddle ever turned on him, which was a very real possibility.

If that scenario ever came to pass, if Riddle ever turned on Harry, then he would make _certain _that he tore Riddle apart just as easily. He needed to be prepared. And he needed to start now.

**{& Darkness}**

"What do you mean you 'couldn't' find him?"

Luke Noreen pursed his lips, his pulse spiking in response to the Dark Lord's tone. It wasn't loud or demanding, but a cool and composed whisper. It had just as much danger behind it as a shout, only considerably more effective. Luke took a deep breath, composing himself as he watched the Dark Lord write a letter. The man was _always _writing in his office. It wasn't an unnatural scene and there wasn't anything out of place today that there hadn't been the last few times he'd sat down with Tom Riddle.

In fact, the office seemed even more warm and inviting than usual. There was a fire lit in the washed-stone fireplace and a serpent was coiled comfortably near the hearth. It was a small serpent with bright and exotic colors, beautiful in its own right. But Luke knew Riddle didn't choose his serpents just for the exotic scales. It was all about the venom and fangs.

The Dark Lord's method in choosing serpents was frighteningly similar to how he chose and bred his followers. Most of the women and men who followed and worshipped Riddle were beautiful in their own right. But what really mattered was how venomous they all were when it came down to it. Well-mannered and well-bred, for the most part, but they were viciously wild when the situation demanded it.

"No, My Lord," Luke murmured solemnly, clasping his hands together over his lap. His eyes darted to the portrait of Merope and gave a solid nod in her direction. She only frowned back at him. "Toby Regbo wasn't at the base I had originally thought he was hiding."

Riddle's quill swept over the parchment with a flourish. Luke felt reassured at the man's distraction, only because he _did _have something to hide from the Dark Lord. He was loyal to boot to Tom Riddle, he had been for over twenty years, but he was in debt. Riddle's pay couldn't keep his head above the water even if Luke stopped his gambling.

"You are a professional tracker, Mr. Noreen. I pay you a good sum of money to search for Regbo. The man truly can't be _that _good at hiding, can he? Or have I overestimated your ability?"

Luke held his tongue. It was _Riddle _who had underestimated Regbo before, which is how the man had weaseled away in the first place. "Yes, you are generously paying me, My Lord. But Regbo escaped before I got there. The entire compound was deserted, but there were traces that he had been staying there, along with a good handful of people."

Crimson eyes glanced at him only briefly, but it was enough to make Luke breathless in suspense. "This is the fifth time you've turned up empty-handed."

He bowed his head in apology, but in reality, he did it only to escape the piercing stare. "I'm sorry, My Lord. Next time, I promise you, you'll have him in your possession."

"Is that so?" Riddle murmured in interest. "Is that before or after you accept a pouch of gold from Regbo's henchmen?"

Luke looked up so quick, his neck snapped. His mouth turned dry in horror. "M-my Lord…" he inhaled deeply as he watched Riddle stand up from the other side of his desk. The serpent next to the fire roused from its slumber and hissed in excitement. "It was only twice, I beg of you!" Luke scrambled up from his chair and warded off the advancing man. "I received a letter from a wizard who worked with Regbo. He paid me in return for stalling my search for him. They _knew _I was tracking him. When I got too close, they would give me _piles _of gold."

Riddle chuckled lowly, his steps slow and measured as he took out his wand. His long fingers caressed the wand in lazy strokes as he considered Luke. "You expect me to believe that they would pay you that much gold just to simply… look the other way for a few days so Regbo could retreat to another location? If that were the case, then they could have easily killed you and saved themselves a lot of gold and trouble."

The younger man backed away, stumbling on the side of his chair. "They couldn't kill me if they can't _find _me. I can hide just as well as I can find." Luke held out his hands higher, begging. The wand was pointed at him and Luke knew he wouldn't be able to defend himself against the Dark Lord. "Please, Tom. I _am _loyal to you, I would _never _betray you. I just needed the extra money."

The Dark Lord looked impassively unimpressed as he raised his wand, a curse at his lips. It was the Killing Curse! Luke trembled, panic rising to new heights.

"No! There is _more…_ Here…" Luke dug shakily into his pockets. Before he could pull out the photograph, he caught sight of the satisfied gleam in Riddle's eyes and mentally cursed. The Dark Lord had _known _there was more Luke was hiding. It was all an act. Riddle hadn't intended to kill him; he had just wanted the full story out of him.

He slouched back in his chair in relief. From beneath lowered lids, he watched as Riddle lowered his wand and eventually put it away in his cloak pocket. Though, the tall wizard didn't sit back down, instead, he stood next to Luke, expectant.

"I was also given a side assignment for the gold." Luke sighed, relieved he wasn't in peril. He frowned at Riddle's softly amused expression before digging out the photograph. "Again, I would never betray you, My Lord. But the idea of working for two powerful, rich wizards appealed to my selfish side. In the end, my loyalties will always lie with you," he said truthfully. He handed the photograph to Riddle, watching as the man took it gently.

Split-crimson eyes appraised him briefly before looking at the photograph. "What is this?" he asked firmly.

Luke nodded once. "I was assigned to capture a wizard, My Lord. Harry Potter." He motioned toward the photograph now held tightly in Riddle's hands. It was a photo taken of the young wizard for Luke's identification. But instead of just Harry Potter, Minister Riddle was also in the photo. It was taken at a Quidditch game, Luke imagined. It showed the boy's features perfectly, but he had still been able to identify Riddle as well. "I was so hesitant to tell you because you obviously know him. But I didn't recognize him as one of your followers, so I decided to accept the job."

Completely blank in emotion, Riddle handed the photograph back to Luke. "What does Regbo want with Harry Potter?"

He stared up at the Dark Lord, making sure to keep eye contact. "I don't know, My Lord. Honestly, they didn't give much information. They only said that they had tried to capture him before, but the wizards who had tried all ended up dead."

"Is that so?" Riddle mused, interested. "The boy killed them?"

"No, apparently they didn't even come in contact with Harry Potter before they were dead, or missing. There weren't any bodies left behind. It's like… some invisible guard or something. Or strong wards. The boy has some sort of strong protection on him." Luke shrugged. "I'm sure I will be able to sneak past it, whatever it is. I did a bit of research on Potter. He's incredibly young and he works at the Department of Magical Games and Sports." Luke tilted his head. "I don't underestimate my opponents, but I don't _believe _he will be an issue."

For reasons unexplainable, Riddle gave a snake-like smile. "Indeed," was all the man said.

Riddle seemed pensive as he stared unseeingly at Luke. The Dark Lord then leaned against the side of his desk, right next to a potted flower Luke hadn't taken notice of before. His eyes zeroed in on the flower in sharp interest. It appeared to be a bright purple and ivory-white orchid with small steams curling in elegant twists. Luke blinked at it, turning to look up at Riddle, suddenly noticing those slit-eyes watching him closely. Despite himself, Luke flushed hotly at the sharp observation.

"Do you like it?" Riddle murmured in question. He turned only slightly, caressing the square pot with lazy admiration. "It's a magical orchid, very rare and exotic to these lands." He paused, smiling in mock abash. "I seem to have a particular interest in the exotic." He pushed the potted plant closer to the middle of his desk, right in front of Luke. The petals were wide and so painfully beautiful that it was hard to look away. "The petals are supposed to be softer than silk."

Luke stared, his chest tightening. He wanted to touch the petals, to see if they were as soft as the Dark Lord claimed. His fingers twitched, but he stopped himself, looking up at the Dark Lord in inquiry.

A predatory smile stretched those lips and the man's eyes became half-lidded in pleasure. "Go on," he encouraged softly. "I know it's impossible to resist."

Struggling to remain refined, but excited nonetheless, Luke reached forward and pinched a petal softly between his thumb and index finger. As soon as he touched it, he realized he should have paid more attention to Riddle's words. _The petals are _supposed_ to be softer than silk, _he had said. Those weren't the words coming from an individual who had touched the potted plant himself.

Warning bells went off in Luke's head as he tore his hand away from the orchid. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough. The petal had fine razor-like needles on it. They punctured Luke's skin and he gave a soft exclamation as he peered at his lightly bleeding fingers. "What…" he blinked, his tongue swelling and his head becoming heavy almost immediately. He grunted, falling from his chair and onto the floor as the blood in his system began to _burn. _

Through tearing eyes, he stared up at the Dark Lord. The man was smiling down at him, watching him in fascination. It struck fear in him, far more fear then the possibility of dying. Darkness curled and embraced around the Dark Lord as the man watched him. Luke had heard whispers about Riddle having another side to him, a darkness that chilled his opponents thoroughly. Luke just never thought he'd experience that side of his Lord. He was faithful, damnit!

"I believe I am a giving and merciful Lord, Mr. Noreen."

Pain. It was everywhere. Despite this, Luke nodded fiercely, trying to show the Dark Lord that _yes _he was merciful!

"I gave you many chances to bring me what I wanted," Riddle tsked condescendingly. "And what did you do in response to those second chances? You betrayed me, purposely holding off _my _orders for another. I do not take kindly to my orders being pushed to the side and ignored. More importantly, I do not take kindly to being _played_ by the likes of you." The man was a constant presence as he looked down his nose at a struggling and mute Luke.

His vision began to darken and tunnel. Luke whimpered and trembled on the floor, trying to arch against the pain numbing his system. Through his ringing ears, he heard the Dark Lord begin to hiss. Luke struggled furiously when he saw the purple and emerald scales close in on him. He opened his mouth in a silent scream as the serpent lunged for him, its curved fangs bared. They punctured his skin easily and retreated before striking again.

He trembled and shivered. It was surreal, the pain, the _heat, _and the way his blood formed a high-spouting fountain. He watched through hazy-eyes, feeling his soul detach from his body. With one last strain, he looked up at Riddle. The man hadn't looked away since. He was simply _watching _with blasé interest and his eyes remained half-lidded.

A sinful smile was the last thing Luke got the chance to see before everything went black and silent.

**{Collide}**

The next morning, Harry had things rolling at the Junior Quidditch camp even before the kids showed up. It helped matters that he hadn't been able to sleep that night and just decided to get here early. There had been a constant _itch _in him that refused to cease. His body had been wired last night and it carried over into this morning. It was if it was searching for something that would push itself to the limit, it needed to hunt.

He tried to push it away from him. After all, he was the one in control of his body, not this… hunger. It had helped to be surrounded by so many people. His Empathy got a good workout and gave his energy something productive to do. He had also needed to keep face around so many children and Quidditch players, which was a chore in itself.

The warm Earl Grey was also doing wonders to flatline his darker desires. He sipped at it as he looked down across the pitch, making certain everything was running smoothly. The professional Quidditch players were in place and instructing the children, doing an impressive job. The kids stared at them wide-eyed, recognizing their favorite players. It helped matters that they wore their uniforms with their name and number on the back.

Harry could identify Ginny in her Holyhead Harpies uniform and Oliver Wood and Benjy Williams in their Puddlemere United colors. There were even a few of Harry's old teammates from the England National Quidditch team. He was sure Ron was hiding amongst the parents in the stands, ogling at the few Chudley Cannon players who had volunteered to work at the camp.

Harry was currently sitting on a tiered platform that out-looked the pitch. Next to him sat a small travel plate full of cheese, summer sausage, and fruit. It was a late lunch for him and courtesy of old Mildred, who was working with Riddle at the food court. She was the head sever at the Ministry cafeteria. With enough space between her front two teeth for another tooth, Mildred took her job seriously and smiled broadly to each of her patrons. She had eagerly volunteered to help Harry when she heard about the Junior Quidditch camp. Such a sweet, pure lady.

She had been positively _tickled _when Harry had led Riddle over to the food stand earlier that morning. In fact, many of the parents had gotten a kick out of the infamous Minister of Magic serving them coffee and tea. Riddle had taken it in stride and smiled politely, yet Harry was eager enough to notice the strain and the promise of retribution in those eyes.

"Such a clever boy you are, Harry," Riddle crooned darkly from behind him. "To assign me the most degrading position in the camp." The voice was spoken directly in Harry's ear, somehow turning the mundane action of whispering into something erotic. A possessive hand then grabbed his arm and curled greedily around his elbow.

Harry didn't even flinch. Sitting in the dark alcove of the pitch, he had watched as Riddle took leave from the food court before disappearing. He knew the man was searching him out, so it came to no surprise when Riddle snuck up behind him. He had even heard the man's quiet approach by the rustle of trousers against the cloak.

He turned marginally, forced to do so by the hand on his elbow. A mocking smile twitched his lips and Riddle watched it with cruel scrutiny. "Be happy you weren't assigned bathroom duty," Harry murmured smartly. Sipping at his tea with his opposite hand, he forced Riddle to back away slightly. "And if you push it, you _will_ be assigned cleaning the loos."

Behind the cheater glasses, Riddle's dark brown eyes sparkled. "And if _you_ so much _dare _to go through with that threat, I will find a way to force you to lick all the bathroom tiles."

Harry frowned, sensing the absolute truth in those words. "Is there a reason you stalked me all the way up here, Riddle?" He turned away from the man and looked down at the pitch below. "I don't believe your shift is over with just yet."

The man's unrelenting hand tightened on his elbow before it suddenly disappeared along with the rest of the man's presence. "And yet, your shift is far from over and you have already needed to escape the demands of Harry Potter's good-natured charm." A second later, Riddle casually sat down next to him and slid a photograph across the bench toward him. "Have you ever seen this man?"

Making a show of leaning toward it, Harry bypassed it and picked up a piece of sausage. He popped the slice in his mouth and chewed slowly, gaze sideways at the photograph. It was an older man with white hair and a short circle beard. Pale grey eyes stared up at Harry, oddly serious and arrogant at the same time. He grunted, grabbing a grape and popping it in his mouth. "Is he my first assignment?" Harry inquired lazily.

"I don't believe that question answers _my _question."

Harry chuckled softly, staring across the Quidditch stadium. "No, I have never seen that bloke in my life." He peered at Riddle. "Is he my first assignment?" he repeated.

Something akin to hilarity crossed the man's features at the question. "Perhaps in the advanced stages of our contract."

Green eyes shot back to the photograph, memorizing every detail of the man. Riddle indicated that this would be a difficult man to catch and kill, which only meant that he _was _a challenge. Riddle wasn't one to acknowledge someone else's skill unless it was just. "Who is he?" Harry asked. He lifted his gaze from the photo to Riddle, watching for any signs of deceit. This stranger could have strong ties with Riddle's past. It could be a chance for Harry to dig deeper.

"Toby Regbo," Riddle supplied, taking back the photo with a clear expression.

Harry exhaled softly, his mind racing. Riddle had supplied the name easily enough. The ease of his answer meant that Regbo wasn't connected to Riddle's past and he had no reason to keep the name for himself. Or it could mean that Riddle was aware of Harry's thinking and supplied the name anyway, just to fuck with him and make everything more complicated. Nonetheless, Harry stored the name and face away for future use.

He chewed a few more pieces of cheese and let the silence stretch and stew. "I'll bite," he began, "Why did you want to know if I knew the man if he isn't one of my assignments?"

Riddle scoffed softly. "I have my reasons."

"Reasons that clearly involve me." Harry snapped a grape between his molars, intentionally causing a string of juice to splatter toward Riddle. "That's alright, you have your secrets and I have my own." He was aware of Riddle watching him closely but he refused to show anything on his expression. "Did you talk to Peter yet?"

A thin smile crossed the man's lips. He reached over and stroked Harry's cheek. "I am glad you were able to muster up enough excitement over our proposal, Harry."

_Damn bloody bastard_. Harry hissed, knocking the man's hand away. Of course Riddle would see through Harry's false cheerfulness about working with him. Harry was sure Riddle had laughed when Peter had related to him how enthusiastic he had been at the mention of working together. No matter, he wasn't going to let Riddle get in his way. "I am curious," Harry started, quickly dousing his irritation. "Why did you send Peter?"

Surprisingly, Riddle didn't see the need to keep this bit to himself. "I thought he would be a good first suspect in locating your parents' murderers. He never liked your father much."

Harry's eyes flashed. "I'm working alone on that—"

"Pity, then you won't use my resources," Riddle interrupted smoothly. "I am not a fool. I will not have you using my contacts and purposely tarnishing my reputation among them." He offered Harry a pointed look. "Trust me, love, when we find your parents' murderers, I find it pointless to use what I learned against you. I have other things I can hold over your head."

Sitting back against his hands, Harry clenched his jaw and stared at nothing in particular. It shouldn't have come to a shock to Harry that Riddle would be a constant presence in finding his parents' murderers. After all, it was impossible for Harry to use Riddle's contacts without the man's knowledge. Riddle would know who he was going to and what was discussed even if he wasn't standing next to him. Besides, there wasn't anything Harry had to hide from Riddle when it came to his parents' murder. It was planned torture, simple as that. And it was in the past, everything to do with his mother and nothing to do with him.

It wouldn't hurt to have Riddle know, even though it rubbed Harry the wrong way. Nonetheless, he _needed _Riddle's far reach when it came to resources. Harry could try to boast that he could do it by himself, with his own contacts. But that would be a lie and an obvious one at that. "It was my mother," Harry said smoothly, catching Riddle's eyes. The best way to adapt with Riddle on this case was to pretend it didn't _matter. _

"Pardon me?" the Minister inquired with a cocked eyebrow. "I would have thought your father was a good place to start. He was a rather impressive Auror and he naturally made enemies every day on his job."

Harry gave a humorless grin. "I'm glad you took an interest in my father, _My Lord, _but they asked _her _questions. They never asked my father or me anything." He faltered, just briefly as the memories came screaming back to him. "And no, I don't remember particularly what they asked her. They wanted to know where something was, that's all I can… recollect." Riddle was watching, waiting and looking for any sign of weakness. Harry never gave it.

"What was her line of work?"

"Unspeakable."

Riddle actually blinked at that as he pursed his lips in delight. "Unspeakables are rather intangible. It's no wonder you were unable to gather anything of material."

Harry leaned forward, smirking. "Are you admitting that this is past your capabilities, Riddle?"

Suddenly, Riddle's hand covered Harry's on the bench. The skin contact sent shocks of painful awareness across the both of them but neither showed even the slightest inclination. Riddle's sharp fingernail caressed the skin between Harry's thumb and index finger before curling around his wrist in possessiveness. "Nothing is ever past my capability, Harry. Remember that."

Harry struck, taking quick possession of Riddles fingers and bending them backwards until a quiet snap indicated that the joints were near their breaking point. "Don't. Touch. Me." Harry emphasized each word by bending the fingers further back. "You're an arrogant bastard, you hear me, Riddle? Not everyone turns to putty in your hands."

"I'm counting on you to keep your word on that." He reached for Harry's face with his other hand but it was knocked away before it could even come in contact. For a brief second, Riddle showed his impatience and his anger. "I would like to know what will make you tolerate my touch. Surely you have had some inkling that I want more from you than just your hunting ability."

Harry tensed and released Riddle's bent-over fingers. He put a further distance between himself and Riddle, coolly sipping at his Earl Grey again. Somehow, even his beloved liquid couldn't calm his racing pulse and outrage. Green eyes cut through the dark alcove and pinned Riddle with a menacing look. "That will _never _happen, Riddle. Don't ever ask or assume again." He would admit that the tension was palpable between them, but Harry refused to even consider the idea of fucking Tom Riddle. The man wouldn't yield to Harry like that. And Harry certainly wasn't going to yield to him.

They were both alpha men. And that meant that it was impossible to go through with what Riddle was hinting at.

Riddle made an 'awing' noise. "You want it to remain strictly professional. I can respect that. For today at least."

The dark-haired wizard flashed the Minister a sour look but didn't press the topic. "Have you figured out my first assignment?" Harry asked tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was suddenly not in the mood for anymore verbal sparring, especially when it just excited Riddle to the point of arousal. Not like Harry could fault the man. It went both ways. Harry just refused to act on it or even fantasize it.

"I have," Riddle concurred, his tone light and victorious, as if he saw Harry's actions as defeat on their previous topic. "This certainly is not the place to discuss sensitive manners. I hope to have you at my manor this week." His attention wavered from Harry and he was watching something below.

Harry turned, looking down to see that Ginny had caught Riddle's observation. She was currently searching the stands, looking for someone, most likely him. Harry frowned, watching her. He couldn't be too exasperated with her. Ginny wasn't clingy and she didn't expect to be touching him all the time. She had six older brothers; she acted more like a tomboy than an insecure girl.

She was pure too. Harry wasn't overwhelmed by the taste of taint with Ginny. There were times he felt as if _he'd _taint her by being close to her. Still, even when Ginny didn't press to be around him all the time, it was still digging into his privacy. And he felt guilty for having to pretend to have feelings for her.

And now Riddle was watching her like that of a kitten watching an insect skitter across the floor. Harry would know. He'd found himself doing it on a few occasions in his Animagus form. Nothing good could come out of Riddle's sharp surveillance.

"I heard Miss Weasley was being considered as a Chaser for the Portuguese National Quidditch Team," Riddle said abruptly.

Harry scowled. "Don't play your games with her."

The Minister rotated his body toward Harry, drawing on his magic. The temperature dropped several degrees as he loomed close, refusing to give Harry an inch of breathing room. His eyes seemed to have a crimson glow to them, even though they were still muddy brown. He reached out then and gripped Harry's chin completely. "I refuse to have anyone stand in this game between you and me. I will not tolerate your attention being distracted by someone of her standing. It's insulting." Riddle stood up, easily stepping over the bench and beginning to make his way down the platform.

Harry started to laugh, pleased. It was fun when he knew exactly what Riddle was feeling, what he was thinking. The man was more possessive than Harry imagined he would be. Even when Riddle had admitted to _wanting _Harry, Harry didn't think the man was jealous of Ginny. Tom Riddle was simply irked that someone else was demanding Harry's attention other than himself. The man was spoiled and he was used to getting what he wanted.

This was great. He was slowly starting to get to know the real Tom Riddle with each interaction. It wouldn't be long until Harry could wield that knowledge against Riddle if the situation demanded it… if Riddle forced his hand. Until then, Harry would enjoy this while it lasted.

**{Dreams}**

There had been no indication that it would happen and maybe that's why it took an unprepared Harry completely off guard.

The camp had begun to close down for the day. The parents were taking home their exhausted but happy children and the professional Quidditch players were leaving after making sure things were set up for tomorrow. Old Mildred and Tom Riddle were giving out last minute candy to the kids who wanted to spoil their appetite before dinner. And Harry was making sure everyone stayed in line.

Usually when he was in a location with many people in one setting, their emotions tended to mirror each other. He could feel the content and the exhaustion. The sudden spike of uncontrolled fear and horror was what made Harry whip his head around and scrutinize the Quidditch stadium for the source. The farewells sent his way fell on deaf ears as Harry swam through the crowd of people, desperately searching for the individual that was giving off such helpless emotions.

There, across from him, was a young child being led by the hand by an adult. Warning bells went off in Harry's head as he hurried after them, feeling something dark and horrific stir in his stomach. The man was leading the child into the underground where the maze of offices and locker rooms were located.

They had been a good few yards in front of him. As soon as Harry entered the dark tunnel, he lost complete sight of them. He reached down, grabbing the dagger that was strapped to his calf. It was more for security than anything else. He couldn't kill here, not now. It would be foolish of him to do something so stupid. But the emotions of complete horror and desperation coming from the child affected Harry and he needed something corporeal for defense.

His practiced limp easily transformed into graceful and silent strides as he followed the taste of vulnerable emotions. If he hadn't been an Empath, he would have been unable to track them down. But here he was, crouched down outside a door that led to the showers. It was then when Harry finally sensed the predator.

The man's emotions had started off choppy and confused, but they were now focused. Harry faltered, falling to his knees and retching on the ground next to him. The taint was thick and oily, it was overpowering and so very wicked that it made Harry incoherent for a good few seconds. He gasped, feeling the foul reach of immoral arousal and sick fucking glee.

"Bend over."

"Please… Uncle… M-mom is going to pick me up soon—"

A hand struck skin. "Bend over. Now."

Harry moaned, unable to block the potent emotions. He struggled to crawl away from it all, to block it all out. For a moment, he was lost in the predator's emotions. He was instantly overcome with the pleasure and foul arousal that he wanted to join in and tear into the prey. Having just a small amount of control, Harry forced his Empathy to turn in the prey's direction. Instead of foul glee, Harry was overcome with the bitter surrender of complete and utter humiliation and pain.

"_Mum…" Harry sobbed, feeling them on _him _even if they were around her. Her humiliation was so strong; it made him dizzy with insanity. _

He slammed his fist against the closed door, immediately stopping the proceedings inside. The demoralizing emotions turned to surprise, hope, and fear. His crazed need for destruction easily took over any rational side Harry once possessed. He smiled grimly as he melded into the wall next to the door, listening as the man quieted down the crying child and approached the door.

As soon as it opened a crack, Harry slammed his fist in the man's face. Before the other could shut the door, Harry placed his boot firmly in the doorframe, preventing it from being closed. His prey struggled, casting curses at him in a delirious pace but Harry dodged and sidestepped all of them before he ended up directly next to the taller man. His dagger tilted upward and embedded in the man's wand arm.

The screams were delicious. Harry twisted the dagger and his hold, causing the man to drop his wand on the floor. The puddle of blood blossomed and the man sloppily slipped. "Please!" he cried. "I swear I didn't do anything!"

Harry scowled at the man, looking up at the child. He couldn't see the boy's face, as the nude child was hunched over, holding his face in his palms. "Is that right?" Harry murmured quietly. He twirled the dagger between his fingers, feeling nothing but disgust and hate for the pathetic man laying in his own blood. Through a red haze, he watched the man, unable to clear his head but not wanting to just yet. "I've encountered many men who give way to their carnal desires and claim they did nothing wrong."

He crouched down in front of the man, using his dagger to tear apart the hastily thrown on robe. He fed false emotions of confusion and fear, making the man immobile. "Scum like you have no right living. Why should you have the right to spread terror to those who are defenseless?" Lily and James danced in front of his eyes and Harry roared in misery, seeing faceless tormentors like the man laying prone before him.

He brought back his dagger and stabbed it several times in the man's torso. The child's crying did nothing to tame Harry's racing pulse and frenzied emotions. His movements were done automatically and he felt as if he were watching the proceedings behind a soundless and foggy glass. No matter if he wanted to stop, his body couldn't hear him and would not comply.

When the man stopped moving, stopped giving off the tainted taste of ruined soul, did Harry come back in control of himself.

He dropped his dagger, raking his blood-stained fingers through his hair. Keeping balance on his feet, Harry curled in on himself, breathing deeply. _What had he done_? He had lost complete control. That hadn't been done since his first kill. Then again, he had never encountered a crime that was about to take place that involved so much potent emotions. He couldn't block things like that. He didn't _have _Occlumency to fall back on.

But it was no excuse. Even seeing flashbacks of his mother's broken and lifeless body being used by several men shouldn't have snapped Harry the way it had. This child was not his mother. This man was not her tormentor. He had just killed a man out of uncontrollable anger and hate. He had fallen, and he had fallen hard.

A tentative hand touched Harry's shoulder. He reared away, staring into startled blue eyes. The boy's small frame trembled. He couldn't be older than nine. Looking at the boy's porcelain skin and platinum blond hair, Harry felt his consciousness snap back together and his survival instincts rear back.

This was Auror Grey's son.

The boy lunged at Harry, tackling him in a hug. Sobs shook the boy, so much so that it was hard to keep a steady hold on the child. Harry stared at the opposite end of the showers, piecing together what he had to do. One thing was for certain, he had to erase signs that he was here, including the vomit outside the room, but he had to do it with the dead man's wand. There was also fingerprints he would be unable to wipe off on the wand, which meant he had to bring it with him and then destroy it. And that was a risk in itself.

And the boy?

Right now, the child was delirious, seeing a murderer as his savior. Harry was decent at Memory Charms, but he was inferior when it came to Unspeakables and their ability to reverse something like that. What he could do as an alternate would take a lot longer than just the few minutes he had.

And if on cue, voices and hurried footsteps were coming down the corridor.

It was a good thing Harry was in a territory where he knew every twist and turn. If he had any chance of escaping without leaving a trail and clues behind, he would have to act _now _and he would have to bring the child with him.

Auror Grey would be beyond livid.


	12. Chapter 12

**Warnings: **You'll probably have to watch out for those pesky grammar/typo mistakes.

**12. Chapter Twelve **

Wide blue eyes stared back at him. Harry fed him another stack of pancakes, watching as the boy prodded it with a fork before inhaling it. Ropes of syrup stuck to his chin before the pancake could fully enter his mouth. His hands were trembling as he held the fork and he kept glancing up at Harry between chews, expecting him to pounce across the table at him.

Withholding a sigh, Harry glanced around the restaurant. "Was he your uncle?" Harry inquired softly. He had made sure they were able to sit at a secluded booth in the Muggle diner. Even Muggles could connect clues back to a crime scene.

The boy, August Grey, nodded silently, looking down at his pancakes with sudden disinterest. "My… my mum says he has… bipolar disease?" He licked his lips and glanced slyly up at Harry. "She cries sometimes about it. She doesn't let me stay with him alone. She's always around, except for tonight." He took a shuddering breath. "He always scared me."

Harry sat in silence, feeling the self-contempt churn his stomach further. _Bipolar_. "Does… has he done this to you before, August?" He couldn't imagine that it hadn't happened before. It _had _to have happened. The way the boy's horror and terror had flared was reminiscent of past history. The way the uncle had ordered him to bend over was another hint that this had transpired before. The boy had been used to this abuse. The feelings of meek and fragile self-confidence all but exuded from the small child across from Harry.

August pressed the bristles of his fork against the pancake. He was no older than nine, but his expressions indicated he had already lived a lifetime of torment. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely.

Harry looked at the ceiling when he noticed the spring of tears clouding the boy's eyes. Hesitantly, he reached over and patted the child's hand. Only, the boy had removed his hand quickly, looking cornered and frightened. "Hey," Harry scolded, looking back at the boy. He was not qualified for a job like _this. _"I'm not going to hurt you."

His attempt at comfort was for naught, for August began crying silently, burying his face in his hands.

Sighing, Harry stared out the window, wondering at this horribly numb feeling in his stomach. He had lost complete control tonight… all on a mentally ill man. Looking back on the situation, it _had_ perplexed Harry how the predator had conflicting feelings during the initial attack. But now it all made sense. The 'uncle' had been a whole different man when he led his nephew by the hand. Bipolar wasn't something Harry was necessarily schooled on, but he knew the basics.

Still, Harry's control had been pushed and shattered. All he could think about when he felt August's emotions was the way his mother had been used, how _he _had been used because of it. They had leered over his mother's form and he had felt every minute of it. This child across from him… he had seen Lily in him. And he had seen his tormentors in the uncle.

It was eerily similar to what Riddle had said before…

_No. _Riddle wasn't right. Where the hell did the Dark Lord get off prescribing someone their problems? It wasn't as if _Riddle _was a bloody saint.

But Harry did acknowledge that he needed to learn Occlumency. The feeling of losing control had been… unpleasant. His primitive instincts had taken over his body and his logical side was left looking behind a foggy and sound-proof barrier—completely hopeless to the situation. Harry had lost control before, but never when he had trained so hard to stay on top, to stay in control. Luckily, he had been able to think quickly on his feet tonight. He believed he had successfully hidden any clues that could lead back to him.

It would be devastating if all his hard work had been destroyed over this situation.

Yes, he would need to learn Occlumency. Who he would learn it from was still up in the air. He would be _damned _if he let Riddle or Snape inside his memories. It would give them all unnecessary leverage against him.

Harry lowered his gaze to his nails, staring at the dried blood he hadn't been able to scrub off just yet. It wasn't that he was _sad _he had killed that… that monster, just that he'd lost his control so easily. And yet, he also felt no better than the monster he had just killed. A great deal of doubt and confusion weighed heavily on Harry. He couldn't make heads or tails of it all.

"…_You need help, Harry."_

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes against Hermione's words. Calmly, he began piecing together his composure and sanity. Erik Slore and Uncle Grey had been two unfortunate _mishaps. _He'd lost control with Uncle Grey, he accepted that much and he was going to work to remedy that weakness. On the other hand, Erik Slore had been a victim of Harry's boredom, a victim of Harry's unrestrained darkness. He hadn't waited until the Ministry got their hands on Slore before acting.

And yet, both of these _mishaps _had saved one victim, doubtless that August Grey had been abused before this incident. As long as Harry acknowledged his slip-ups, he could prevent them from happening again. He was not losing control. He was still composed; he was still standing on both feet.

"Stop crying," Harry scolded softly, his eyes flickering over to the sobbing child. Luckily the boy was a silent crier. No further attention from Muggles was needed.

He stared at the trembling boy. August's choice of silently crying was most likely why this sexual abuse had gone on in the first place. Had the boy kept this from his mother? It wasn't unusual for abusers to feel compelled to keep it a secret. But Auror Grey was a notorious enforcer of the law. Surely she must have seen or sensed something?

August peered at Harry between his fingers, acting as if his hands covering his face would make him invisible.

Harry pointed his finger at the boy, telling the child he could still see him. "Your uncle was _sick_." He laid his hand on the table between him and the boy. "The things he did to you were wrong, you hear me?"

"H-he told me I deserved it. That he loved me and wanted me to love him too."

Pressing his fingers against his eyes, Harry gave a growl. "I don't give a shite what your uncle said. He is an unintelligent and pathetic human being." Acidic green eyes traced August's shocked expression. "He had a darkness that made him sick. He used to love you, but that monster growing inside him made him evil. It made him do those things to you. You see, that wasn't your uncle that hurt you all those times. That was a monster controlling your uncle's body."

By the time Harry finished his tirade, the boy had dropped his hands from his face and stared at him. "I don't believe in monsters."

What an annoying little _imp_. Harry grimaced. He had tried explaining it in terms a child would understand. "Monsters are real, boy." He leaned closer to the child, a dark grin on his face. "They just don't walk around like those big hairy creatures you know from fables."

The two stared at one another before August dropped his eyes meekly. His history of sexual abuse would make him look down first until he found a way to unbury his obscured self-confidence. "Then you're a hero. For killing monsters, you're a hero."

Was he? Harry liked to think he _was _saving other potential victims out there. He liked to think that he was doing the Wizarding World a favor by destroying men like Slore and women like Zabini. Only, there was a small part of him that mourned the fact that the world couldn't be as black and white as children viewed it. Auror Shacklebolt, Auror Grey, and others wanted Harry convicted if they caught him, while some members of the public worshipped him.

Harry reached over, this time wrapping his hand around the boy's syrup-stained hand. He withheld a grimace but offered a smile instead. He slowly began feeding the boy emotions of confidence, security, and purity. It was hard digging these emotions up, but he succeeded, he needed to for the child's sake. "I think you are the hero."

Blue eyes melted and he gave a wide smile. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so." Already, Harry could sense a distinct change in the boy. It really was remarkable how humans acted differently if they experienced the right emotions. How brilliant this boy shined when he was feeling a respectful level of confidence.

Harry's Empathy influence wouldn't last forever, but he was sure that the boy would be able to dig it up again now that he'd experienced it. Even if Harry wiped the child's memories of him, the brain wouldn't forget emotions so easily. Perhaps he would intentionally bump into August Grey from time to time in order to feed him some sprinkles of confidence. The boy may be an unnecessary burden, but a child… no, a _human _never deserved humiliation and abuse like this.

August bowed his head. "I want to go back to my mum."

_That sentiment is quite mutual, kid. _"And you will." Harry leaned back against the squeaky booth and tapped his fingers against the table. Uncle Grey's crime scene would be immediately declared a copycat of _Custos, _he made sure of that. He also had a shaky alibi, even taking into account that people would have seen him hurry toward the downstairs arena. Overall, Harry was confident in all steps, save for _one; _the boy's memories.

He _wanted _to go to Riddle. It was the most rational thing to do. Riddle was a brilliant Legilimens. He would know exactly what to do and he would do it quickly. But then Harry began to think honestly with himself. He knew going to Riddle would only prove disastrous. Harry did not _crawl _for help. He did not rely on someone, especially Riddle. Someone like Riddle would clearly want compensation. And Harry had a sinking suspicion he knew what Riddle would ask Harry to do in return. Sexual favors would most definitely not come from Harry.

No, he needed something else, something that would be just as effective and…

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. _Oh yes… _that could work very well.

**{Dreams}**

"I'm ready to talk!" Cormac reached out to Kingsley, clutching at his sleeve. "I have an alibi the night of Erik Slore's murder."

Kingsley, already hassled with other pressing matters, sighed heavily and forced himself to sit down. "Yes, your lawyer informed me of such." He motioned toward the stern-looking man sitting next to Cormac McLaggen. "Can you tell me why you've changed your mind? If I recall correctly, you didn't have a solid alibi before."

Cormac raked a hand through his blond curls. The past few days of heavy surveillance had been hard on the boy. McLaggen had been allowed bail, but he had been watched by a few Aurors and restricted to a lack of privacy. The _Prophet _hadn't gotten hold of the Auror's detainment of McLaggen, the Aurors had just reported that there was a lead on the case involving _Custos. _Kingsley had fought tooth and nail to keep everything covered, just in case this turned out to be a false lead.

In all actuality, Cormac McLaggen never struck Kingsley as _Custos. _The boy was too…

"Mr. Mullen told me there was an upcoming trial," McLaggen said slowly, motioning toward his lawyer. He seemed to pout, taking his sweet time in responding, clearly ignorant of Kingsley's heavy schedule. "A trial that will present me as _Custos._ He also said that you had enough evidence that could incarcerate me." McLaggen paused and Kingsley leaned forward. "I can't have my reputation ruined like that, even if I am innocent."

Kingsley rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing the boy would get to his alibi. "Yes, yes, I understand Mr. McLaggen. Your alibi?" Really, he had to be with his Aurors. There was currently an uproar in the Department and Auror Grey needed to be comforted and reassured.

Locking his fingers together over the table, Cormac frowned heavily at Kingsley. "I want to make sure this stays between us."

"I cannot guarantee that I won't share it with my other Aurors, Mr. McLaggen. They are also on the _Custos _case. They will need to know the details. But you have my word that I will keep it as confidential as possible." Kingsley watched as McLaggen and Mullen exchanged a terse nod. He did his best to stop his bouncing and impatient foot.

Suddenly, McLaggen's cheeks turned pink. "I was with Draco Malfoy that Friday night at eight o'clock."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "With Draco Malfoy? At his manor?"

If possible, McLaggen turned even redder. "No," he coughed in his fist. "We were in an inn… in Knockturn Alley."

_Oh. _

Kingsley blinked, coughing politely into his hand, similar to McLaggen's earlier gesture. "Well," he began professionally. "You will have to fill out a quick section of paperwork before leaving the Ministry, Mr. McLaggen. After which, the Aurors will escort you home and you will hear back from us shortly."

Cormac stood up abruptly. "I just gave you my alibi, surely the surveillance can—"

"You're a prominent attorney, Mr. McLaggen," Kingsley interrupted, standing as well. "I'm sure you know that a suspect is not free from surveillance until his alibi is confirmed. After which, we'll do the necessary release papers and you will receive your privacy back." He nodded to the two blondes. "Gentlemen, thank you for coming in. I'm glad you were able to see the seriousness of this situation, Cormac. Despite what you may think, I do not want an innocent man going to Azkaban." Before they could form a proper response, Kingsley was already out the door, nodding to the Auror at the door. Auror Inkles would do the necessary paperwork while Kingsley visited other pressing matters.

As he swept down the corridor, he could hear his Aurors arguing over each other, clearly not understanding Kingsley when he requested them to act like rational adults. Minister Riddle was also currently present, most likely thinking the whole Department was incapable.

"It's _not Custos_!"

Auror Grey threw her hands up in the air, desperation coursing through her. "He took my son! He was the one who killed my brother—"

"_Custos _is not a kidnapper, Grey."

Kingsley swept into the main office area, frowning deeply. Against the wall, Riddle was writing something furiously, paying no heed to the arguing adults around him. Kingsley had been surprised to find out the Minister had been at the Junior Quidditch Camp, working at the food court. He had been one of the first ones to find the body of Rolli Grey. Unfortunately, he hadn't been quick enough to catch the culprit. Auror Grey had been on the scene just seconds later and she exclaimed that her son had gone missing.

It was a mess. Nothing had been left at the crime scene, not even the victim's wand. Kingsley had comforted Auror Grey, but the woman seemed far more devastated over her missing child rather than her dead brother. In fact, she seemed rather unhelpful when it came to the motive behind Rolli Grey's death.

"Harry Potter will be our prime suspect, of course," Kingsley announced his presence firmly. Sirius Black opened his mouth widely, his eyes flashing. Kingsley held up a hand, noticing he had finally caught Riddle's attention.

"I informed you that Mr. Potter left the closing proceedings in my hands, Auror Shacklebolt," Riddle educated smoothly. "He said he had a prior engagement. His presence was not expected tonight at closing."

Kingsley nodded, feeling a migraine in the back of his head. "I believe you, Minister Riddle, but until Mr. Potter shows up and explains his situation, we have to consider him responsible. There are witnesses who claim to have seen him entering the entrance to the basement arena just shortly before Rolli's body was found." He turned away from Riddle's impassive expression and motioned toward the floating board. "Until then, we need to deem this a _Custos _crime or a copycat—,"

"Copycat," one seasoned Auror interrupted firmly. "Just look at the sloppy kill. The stab wounds are sparse, not particular. _Custos _is very precise and clean."

Kingsley shook his head, stopping the man from continuing before he turned to a silent Grey. "Are you certain you wish to stay here? You are not allowed to be actively in this case, but you may observe until the field Aurors track down your son."

Auror Grey stared blankly at the photographs of her dead brother, worry etched deeply in her face. As she turned to look at Kingsley, her blonde ponytail slid across her shoulder. "I want to be in the field, looking for my son." She looked away from his coming rebuttal. "But I know I am unable to do so. So I choose to stay here. Please, don't censor your words on my account," she said bitterly.

Auror Anderson smirked at Grey, his eyes narrowing. "You're holding out on us, Grey." His words silenced the chatter around the Department. "You think it's _Custos _despite the glaring facts that it's a copycat. One of _Custos_' MO is hunting criminals. You know each and every one of his victims has been a criminal. So… if you believe _Custos _was the one to do this, then what exactly has your brother done to warrant our serial killer's attention?"

If the silence was heavy before, it was even heavier now. Kingsley watched Grey, noticing she had tensed at the inquiry. The question was extremely warranted, and something that had crossed Kingsley's mind when he had first inspected the body of Rolli Grey.

"I— I didn't think of it that way, Auror Anderson," Grey responded listlessly. "I only looked at the method—"

"The method? You mean the uneven stab wounds? The sloppy work at covering his trails?" Anderson thrust a thumb at one of the photographs. "Your brother even had a smile painted on his lips with his own blood. The media knows _Custos _leaves behind a smile at his crime scenes, but they are not knowledgeable of what _kind _of smile. This copycat actually thought _Custos _paints the smile on his victims." The silver-haired Auror shrugged mockingly, looking at Grey imploringly. "To me, if you simply _looked _at the method, you would know instantly that this isn't _Custos_. Remind me again why you thought it was our serial killer?"

"Who, exactly, is the one being interrogated here?" Grey snapped viciously.

"What was your brother doing all the way downstairs with your son?" Anderson pressed, raising his voice.

"Auror Anderson," Kingsley started firmly, but was quickly cut off by Auror Grey's sudden exhalation.

All eyes turned toward the blonde witch, watching as she pressed her knuckles to her forehead in attempt to compose herself. No tears had fallen, but that didn't stop the vulnerability from crossing her face. "Rolli was never supposed to pick August up tonight." Auror Grey removed her hand, looking at the board. "He suffered from severe bipolar. I- I had suspected that he had… that he had hurt August before, but it was never confirmed."

"You believe Rolli was guilty of—"

"Rape," Auror Grey cut in, her jaw clenched. "I tried so hard to keep him away from August. I had _thought _Rolli was doing better, that he was taking medication. Every time I asked August about it, about the possible abuse he experienced, he would say that nothing ever happened." She swallowed thickly, blinking quickly to vanish away the small tears. "I… I need it to be _Custos _who killed Rolli. He may be a serial killer, but I know he has his own sets of morals. He would never kill an innocent child."

Before anyone could offer comfort, a young voice beat them to it. _"Mama!"_

A blond-haired child raced inside the Department and toward Auror Grey. He collapsed in her arms, hugging her with just as much vigor as she was him. Kingsley watched as Auror Grey began crying in relief, squeezing her child to herself, possessive and unrelenting to the concerned hands reaching in her direction. Kingsley smiled, just a relieved to find the child alive. He turned toward the door to the Department, spotting Harry Potter and Auror Turner.

"Mr. Potter," Kingsley greeted, surprised.

The boy, young man, nodded sharply and began to enter further into the Department, ignorant to the sharp attention from the Aurors and the Minister. "Auror Shacklebolt, I thought you might want to speak to me." Shocking green eyes glanced at Auror Grey from behind thick glasses.

Potter's usual limp was subtle, but noticeable to Kingsley's eyes as he came to a stop in front of him. "I—well, of course, Mr. Potter, you thought right." Before Kingsley could usher the group of them to another room, a sharp _tapping _hit the floor in measured, light taps. The Head Auror pivoted, frowning deeply at the newcomer. It was a man with long tawny hair braided down his back. He was dressed smartly in a suit vest and dark slacks. Sunglasses veiled the newcomers' eyes and a silver cane was in his hand, tapping the ground eagerly in front of him.

"I dearly hope I'm not late," the man exclaimed dramatically, using his cane to lead him across the Department.

Kingsley watched, fascinated, as the cane all but pulled its owner forward like that of a dog. The cane came to a stop near Potter, tapping excitingly before it danced up the boy's leg and up his crotch. Potter came a strangled yelp, his cheeks flushing hotly as he danced away from the man's cane.

"Mr. Potter," the stranger greeted. "I'm not late, am I?"

"You're just on time," Potter replied tightly, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He then turned to Kingsley, grimacing. "I—perhaps we could discuss this more privately?" He looked pointedly at the whole Department of Aurors who were leaning in, curious. "I, er, I heard about the murder and came as quickly as I could," he said in his awkward but professional manner.

Kingsley blinked, shaking himself out of his stupor. "Yes, you're quite right, Mr. Potter." He looked over the boy's messy hair and nodded at the Minister. "Minister, Grey, Turner, why don't you three accompany Potter and myself? And…" he trailed off, looking pointedly at the stranger.

"William Stratton," Potter supplied quietly. "I owled him and asked him to come in. He should be able to supply you with my alibi."

Assessing the blind wizard once more, Kingsley found himself nodding, too taken aback by this stranger's cheerful and odd disposition to properly form a response. Instead, he led the group away from the main hall and toward an interrogation room. This was certainly turning out to be a lot more unusual by the second. He had expected Potter to remain away from the Ministry, too afraid to approach it in fear of being questioned. But then again, this was James Potter's son, a courageous Gryffindor.

Unlocking the door to the larger interrogation room, Kingsley ushered the crowd inside. He made eye contact with Minister Riddle, sharing the man's expression of raised eyebrows and silent speculation. He then nodded to Auror Turner, gesturing for the man to stay standing near the door.

"I hope this won't take too long, Auror Shacklebolt," Auror Grey started, keeping a firm hold on her son's hand. Her opposite hand stroked the boy's hair. "I would like to get August home as soon as possible."

He understood her pressing desire to take her son home and comfort him, but her son was also part of determining this case. Nonetheless, Kingsley nodded diplomatically. "We will try to make this as quick as possible, Auror Grey, Mr. Potter." He sat down across from Potter and the unusual Stratton. Grey settled down next to him with August on her lap, expecting every last inch of him. And with one look over Kingsley's shoulder, he eyed the Minister who folded against the wall behind him.

It was quite the crowd.

"Let's start with the basics, shall we?" Riddle murmured, easily taking Kingsley's words from his mouth. "I already explained to Auror Shacklebolt that Mr. Potter had a prior engagement this evening. He left early from the Quidditch camp and asked if I could look after the closing proceedings."

"That's right," Potter picked up, not missing a beat. "I had an appointment with William Stratton… my therapist." He said this lowly, as if not inclined to share with so many people.

All eyes turned to Stratton as the therapist smiled broadly, patting the table with his fingertips. "That is right," was all he said in return.

Kingsley pressed a curled hand to his mouth, staring at the young therapist. He hadn't known Harry Potter was receiving therapy; then again, it wasn't usually general knowledge to know who was receiving that kind of help. "If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Potter," Kingsley started slowly. "When did you start going to a psychologist?"

Potter opened his mouth to respond, but it was Minister Riddle's sly voice that broke the silence. "I think that is highly inappropriate, Auror Shacklebolt. One does not simply dig his nose between a patient and his therapist. Would you also like to know what they discuss during their meetings as well?"

Kingsley spluttered, straightening from his position. "I—well, it's a fair question," he cleared his throat, offering the Minister a pinched look.

Potter gave a bashful grin, shifting slightly from the tension in the room. He played with his hair again, messing it up even further. Very much like his father. "No, no, it's alright Minister Riddle." He looked at a silent, but grinning William Stratton. "Err, I started therapy a few months after my parents' death. Sirius and Hermione Granger thought it was a good idea." He shrugged. "I don't really go often anymore, but I still go from time to time." His eyes jumped from person to person. "Tonight happened to be one of those nights."

Stratton made a sound of agreement as he dug through his cloak, taking out a small black book. He set it on the table, his veiled eyes looking up at the ceiling. His fingers danced across the journal, flipping the pages until he reached his target. "Ah, here we go." He slid the book in the direction of Kingsley, revealing a daily planner full of brail notes. "See, right here." As he moved his fingertips across the brail at today's date, a smooth, female voice spoke up.

"_Harry James Potter, seven o'clock." _

Kingsley sat back. "I will have to check your credentials, Dr. Stratton. But otherwise, Mr. Potter's alibi is solid." He paused, staring at the young man across from him. "However, there is one thing that doesn't add up."

Potter's eyebrows hitched upward and he leaned forward in anticipation. "Anything, Auror Shacklebolt, I will be glad to answer."

The pure honesty across the boy's face and the eagerness to help out surprised Kingsley. There weren't many people nowadays who liked to take time out of their busy schedules to answer questions in a patient manner. "There are a few witnesses who saw you walking quickly toward the basement of the pitch. This happened to be the…" he paused, looking toward the small child in Auror Grey's arms. "It was the crime scene where we found the victim. Whatever were you doing down there at that time?"

Guilt clouded Potter's face and he looked down. "I— I feel awful for being so close." Here, he looked at Auror Grey. "I should have seen them, but I didn't. I was so focused on getting to my appointment on time…"

"But what were you doing down there, Mr. Potter?" Riddle inquired sharply, his tone deep and suspicious.

Potter offered Riddle an exasperated look. Clearly the boy still wasn't on good terms with the Minister. "I'm getting there, alright? I had to go back for my tea."

"Your tea?" Riddle repeated, dubious, unimpressed.

"I can answer that!" Stratton exclaimed proudly, holding up a finger to halt anymore questions and explanations. His long braid curled around his shoulder and tapped across his chest as he leaned into Potter. "The poor boy needs some _spice _in his life. Earl Grey this, Earl Grey _that_." The therapist made a revolted expression. "It's all the boy drinks. I can even _smell _it on the boy. I've been trying to get him to expand his horizons. His assignment was to pick out a new tea and bring it with him tonight." Suddenly, the tall and lithe male leaned across the table, pressing his finger against Kingsley's nose. "Auror Shacklebolt, tea if very good for the soul. It emits a therapeutic aroma and it settles your chi. Perhaps you should try it some time." He then turned a finger on Riddle's general direction. "Unfortunately, you are past helping, Minister Riddle. You are simply a lost cause."

Potter snorted at that, wicked amusement dancing across his face. Though, he immediately sobered when he looked at August Grey curled up on his mother's lap. "After my appointment, I heard about what happened at the camp. I immediately went over at the pitch and offered my services. I felt immensely responsible. Even if I did hand over the responsibilities to Riddle before my appointment, I still thought it was on my shoulders. These children are my responsibility."

Kingsley looked toward the imposing figure of Auror Turner for conformation.

The dark-skinned Auror gave a deep nod, easily lifting Kingsley's suspicions. Turner was a very trust-worthy Auror and a hard-working individual "He's telling the truth, sir. I saw him Apparate in myself. I told him you were looking for him, but he insisted he help search the pitch for Auror Grey's son before he arrived here."

"I do know the Quidditch pitch the best," Potter expanded. "I understood you would need my alibi, so I owled Dr. Stratton and asked him to meet me here. Auror Turner read over my letter before I sent it."

"Yes, sir," Turner confirmed again. "He's clean."

"And my son?" Grey pressed, looking between Turner and Potter. "What happened?"

"We found him, ma'am," Auror Turner reassured. "I was assigned to look for him at the pitch, in case he wasn't kidnapped and was just hiding." He looked at Potter. "Mr. Potter and I searched together and it took a good half-an-hour to find him huddled in the top tier of the bleachers. He was frightened, but unharmed."

Auror Grey breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a kiss to her son's forehead. "Thank you, Mr. Potter and Auror Turner for bringing back my son."

It was all well in good. Potter had an alibi, the child was not harmed, and Auror Grey received a peace of mind. However, there were still questions regarding the case. For instance, what did the child see, if anything? Kingsley looked over his shoulder at Riddle, noticing the man was watching William Stratton with hooded eyes. "Minister," Kingsley called to attention. "Perhaps you can look into the child's mind…"

"With all due respect, Auror Shacklebolt, my son has gone through a traumatic experience tonight," Auror Grey snapped in interruption. Her claws came out at the mention of her cub's wellbeing.

Kingsley pressed his fingers against his temples. "I could have the Unspeakables search your son's memories, but I thought it would be subtler to use Minister Riddle and his Legilimency abilities. August won't feel a thing and he won't have to relive the experience. We need to know if he has seen anything, if his mind was tampered with." He raised an eyebrow, knowing Auror Grey wouldn't refuse. She was just as much driven to find their serial killer as he was.

Grey looked at Minister Riddle, holding her child possessively. For a moment, it looked as if she would refuse. "Alright," she agreed softly. "Just—just tonight's events, Minister, please."

The Minister stepped away from the back wall with slow and measured steps. "You have my word," the man promised lowly. He approached mother and son, his eyes focused on the silent child. He reached out, tapping the boy lightly under the chin. "Look at me, child."

Kingsley eyed the proceedings intently before glancing at Potter and Stratton. The two were looking on, intrigued and ordinary. There was nothing that would indicate that they were nervous about what Riddle would find inside the boy's mind. Turning back to Riddle, Kingsley noticed the man had a frown on his face before he released August Grey's chin.

"Nothing," Riddle confirmed, looking at Potter briefly before turning his attention on Kingsley. "The boy was assaulted momentarily by his uncle but ran from the showers as soon as someone knocked on the door. He was hiding where Mr. Potter and Auror Turner claimed he was." He pressed his lips together. "I'm afraid we will be unable to obtain any information from Auror Grey's son."

For a fleeting moment, Kingsley considered asking the Unspeakables for a second opinion, but soon dismissed it. Auror Grey wouldn't concede to that and Minister Riddle would find insult.

He had a lot of work to go over tonight. And he hadn't even had dinner yet... And to think, he would need to contact the Malfoys. His headache grew in intensity just thinking about it.

"You may go, Mr. Potter, Mr. Stratton. Thank you for your assistance tonight."

Potter stood up with Stratton, a grim smile on his face. "My pleasure." He nodded to Auror Grey and Kingsley before making his way toward the door. Before Auror Turner could open the door to release them, a young voice interrupted their departure.

"Harry!"

Kingsley watched in surprise as August Grey unwound himself from his mother's arms and ran toward Potter. It had been the first time since the child spoke tonight and the first indication he had noticed Potter's presence. Next to him, Auror Grey stood up, watching the proceedings in keen interest, worry still etched across her face for her son.

The boy hesitated when he came to a stop in front of Harry. Because his back was turned to the adults, Kingsley couldn't discern what the child was expressing. But the small shoulders were hunched uncertainly and the thin arms were hesitantly swinging from his sides. "T-thank you," the child whispered quietly.

Potter blinked down at the child before a smile crossed his lips. He crouched down, level with the child and held out his arms. August leaned into him, hugging him just as strongly as he had his mother. Potter chuckled, leaning away and ruffling the boy's hair. "You're welcome." At his touch, the young boy seemed to inflate, gaining some courage back. "I hope to see you on the Quidditch pitch again. You're a prodigy in the making."

And without further ado, Potter stood up and escaped the room with his therapist at his back.

Kingsley frowned deeply. For being sexual abused, August seemed to have been comfortable in Potter's presence. It was unusual, or so the thought. Was it a good sign? Or a bad sign? Was he reading too far into it? He liked to think he had a small sliver of intuition. And right now, his intuition was telling him that this scene wasn't exactly as it seemed to be.

**{& Darkness}**

"He's suspicious of you, you know. One may be able to misguide Shacklebolt, but he is also a smart man."

"I know," Harry replied curtly, cutting into his chicken. He had no idea why he had accepted Riddle's dinner invitation. Probably because he knew this wasn't going to be just _dinner, _but also the night he received his first assignment.

It had been almost a week since the Quidditch incident and Riddle had kept his respectful distance since then. Of course, the Minister had also declined working at the food court again, explaining he had other _pressing _matters to attend. Harry hadn't pushed; in fact, he had welcomed a whole week without the Dark Lord breathing down his neck. It also gave him time to work out alternative plans and schemes. He needed to be prepared if Riddle turned on him and he needed to be prepared if the Ministry were to catch on to his identity.

"You know?" Riddle repeated in humor.

Harry chewed his chicken, looking across the table at the Dark Lord. "You must realize that I _have_ considered the possibility that I would get caught." Harry looked back down at his plate, not entirely in the mood to converse with Riddle. He was weighed heavily by the Weasleys, by Hermione, by the Grey's, and by his _consistent _itch to hunt. The Junior Quidditch Camp was finally over and Harry had yet to unwind from the stress and the constant _going. _

He was due to go to a Christmas gathering at the Weasley's tomorrow. The gathering cut into his isolation, his privacy. He needed time to re-energize.

Across from the table, Riddle made an interested noise in his throat. "I see you're in a good mood." He surveyed Harry closely. "Has the weight of your mask exhausted you? My, my, I can hardly see your true persona underneath all that leftover Harry Potter grime."

Harry knew what the man was hinting at. He offered the Dark Lord a chilling stare. "Yes, I am able to keep up with you tonight, if that's what you're insinuating." Mentally, he sighed, realizing that he needed to recover his wits about him. And quickly. He recognized that he needed to be sharp and ready with Riddle. After all, it was Harry who had accepted this invitation tonight. "It's been so long since I was able to relax."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze. _Fool. _You're a _fool, _Harry_. _

"Relax?" Of course Riddle would catch the slip and jump on it with gleeful vigor. "I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted that you can _relax _in my presence." The Dark Lord smiled thinly, sipping his wine and watching Harry attentively.

"You should be insulted, really," Harry replied, recovering only slightly.

Riddle didn't seem to accept that as a recovery. He only continued to stare, tapping his fingers against the steam of his wine glass in contemplation. "I would be devastated if you were to be corrupted back into the old Harry Potter." He placed his wine glass back on the table and leaned forward in his chair. "I believe those redheads are negatively influencing you, the tomboy wench especially. Perhaps you should spend some more time with me."

Harry continued to pick at the vegetables on his plate, playing ignorant. "In all actuality, I think _you _are the negative influence, Riddle." He looked up at Riddle, unable to stop the slow smirk beginning to tug at the edge of his mouth. "Clearly you don't give yourself enough credit."

And just like that, after a few traded verbal barbs, Riddle was able to reach into the numbing abyss and pull Harry back through. His mind seemed to sharpen and his instincts were fine-tuned. Despite his slip in claiming that Riddle was relaxing, Harry knew there was some truth to it. It was just _fun _to be around Riddle. He could be himself, he didn't have to pretend. Not that he liked the bastard…

As if reading Harry's mind, Riddle sat back, satisfied. "I do have to comment on this past week's victim," the Dark Lord began, picking up on his original conversation.

"I would be surprised if you didn't have anything to say about it," Harry quipped, stabbing a piece of broccoli. "Tell me you were impressed," he coaxed, grinning coyly. He was pushing it with the arrogance, he knew, especially when the murder happened because of his lack of self-control. They both knew Harry had slipped.

Crimson eyes lightened in amusement and Riddle chuckled lowly. "You're fortunate you can think on your feet and act masterfully." He cocked his head to the side, still keeping his unwavering gaze on Harry. "I am curious about your therapist."

"William Stratton," Harry supplied, grinning at Riddle's subtle demand at an explanation. "He really is my therapist." He stared at the wine glass. When he had needed William to act as his alibi, it had been surprisingly easy to get the man to agree. The man had all but gushed at seeing Harry again and hadn't asked too many questions. The man knew, he had to have known Harry was _Custos. _And yet, Stratton was providing him with an alibi. "His services that day at the Ministry only cost me marginally."

"Oh?" Riddle inquired darkly. "And how exactly are you repaying him?"

Harry's eyes flickered up at the Dark Lord. "Unlike you, Riddle, Stratton doesn't mind bottoming." He couldn't resist. It was an extremely immature response, but Harry _needed _to see the way those red eyes flared in sudden rage. Harry chuckled merrily, tipping his head back. "I'm only joking," he said, taming the Dark Lord's icy stare. "Originally, I had stopped our therapy appointments. In return for acting as my alibi, he asked me to resume our sessions once every two weeks."

Riddle hardly looked pleased at Harry's jest. "He seems desperate for your attention. Are you sure you can trust him?"

Smiling bitterly, Harry set his fork and knife down. "I can't trust anyone, Riddle." He picked up the glass of wine and swirled it around. "You didn't ask me about August Grey's altered memories."

"That's because I was the one who taught Severus Snape. I could recognize his presence in the boy's mind." The Dark Lord pushed his plate away and a House-elf immediately appeared to pick it up. "I'm surprised you went to him for assistance."

"Assistance? Hardly. I went to him for repayment." Harry followed the Dark Lord's lead and pushed his plate away. He watched as another House-elf popped in and vanished with his plate. "He owes me far more than he can possibly repay in his lifetime." His fingers clenched underneath the table as he thought of Snape. He hadn't _liked _going to Snape, but it had needed to be done. The man hardly batted an eyelash as he took August Grey and manipulated the boy's memories.

Nothing had been said between the two besides clipped instructions and subtle insults.

He looked up at the Dark Lord, noticing the man was smiling pleasantly. "What?" Harry demanded suspiciously, his body on edge.

"This has been enjoyable. Who knew you were capable of well-mannered and engaging conversation, hm?"

Riddle liked to do this. He liked to compliment. He liked to be polite and helpful. But there were times, like now, when Harry was aware of something darker beneath the façade. There was something incredibly sinister about Riddle. Harry had only seen glimpses of it, but he had never been fooled enough to believe that was the extent of Riddle's darkness. There was a lot more depth there, Harry had only scratched the surface.

There was a reason Riddle was so powerful and influential. Pure and polite politicians did not get to the top. And Dark Lords did not come to power based on how well they could compliment others. Harry was never fooled, he was never manipulated, and luckily, he believed Riddle knew that as well. The Dark Lord was aware that Harry had his own darkness and he knew he couldn't fool Harry completely with his genuine act of kindness. It was probably why they enjoyed each other's company so well.

Despite their veiled darkness, they both could see through to the other.

"I think I prefer seeing your fangs," Harry drawled. And he really was torn. He didn't mind conversing with Riddle, but he also enjoyed fighting with him as well. He supposed if he was 'working for' the Dark Lord, then verbal banter would have to suffice.

Riddle had his eyes half-lidded as he admired Harry. "You have never seen my fangs fully, child. I would scare you away," the Dark Lord murmured. He then smirked. "Though perhaps not. Perhaps I would only excite you. We are _much _alike after all."

Harry scoffed. He already knew the Dark Lord was corrupt and tainted. It was half the reason he could never join the man willingly. His mother had despised Riddle as well, though she had never interacted with him as much as Harry had. It was her intuition that made her leery of Riddle. Lily was never one for power and politicians that wielded it. And Harry was never one for men and women who killed others as if lives were meaningless.

"You don't agree," Riddle observed. "Someday you will. Someday you will realize that you aren't a saint or a hero. You are simply a skilled and clever killer."

Green eyes flashed coldly.

"Of course, that doesn't mean you don't have morals," the Dark Lord continued silkily. "Even a killer has morals and I am impressed with your strong _ethics_. One must abide to their own set of morals in order to keep themselves falling prey to cold bloodlust." He held up a long, pale finger. "You see, there is a difference between an intelligent killer and a lustful killer. An intelligent killer identifies their target and goes about their mission successfully. A lustful killer is very dissimilar in that they simply let their emotions control them."

Riddle then pointed at his chest. "They let that darkness take full control of their actions. You see, Harry, one can learn to live and accept the darkness within them. They only have to learn to _control _it. Lustful killers cannot face the fact that they have a darkness residing inside them. They try to muffle it, suffocate it, and in turn, it takes control over _them_." He folded his hands together then, motioning toward Harry. "You are tittering dangerously between an intelligent and a lustful killer."

"Riddle—"

"_Silence,_" the Dark Lord hissed. "I am not finished." He leaned back against his high-backed chair. "You lost complete control when it came to Auror Grey's brother. You are extremely lucky that you were able to dig yourself out of that hole. But it won't be so easy next time. And it _will _happen again if you continue to pretend that you are a _hero_ and telling yourself that you are not a killer."

"I know I'm a killer," Harry argued darkly.

Red eyes sparkled maliciously. "No you don't. You don't even think you're comparable to Zabini, Slore, Grey—"

"I'm _not _comparable to them." Harry breathed in deeply, trying to control his anger. "I lost control over Grey, yes. I understand I need Occlumency to shield their emotions."

"No," the Dark Lord argued. "You also killed because you were brought back to your days in torture with your mother and father. You were a lustful killer that night at the Quidditch pitch. You let your emotions rule your actions. Not only do you need to learn Occlumency, but you need to find your parents' murderers and end your mental torment. You need to start accepting that darkness inside of you and act on it, control it. Right now, it's beginning to control you."

"And how would you go about controlling it?" Harry asked spitefully, reluctantly remembering how _itchy _he was to hunt this past week.

Riddle actually chuckled at that. "Do what I do, love. Sate it, acknowledge it. For you, the only way to sate your darkness is to kill."

"I believe that's what I'm doing now…" _You bloody bastard_.

"For all the wrong reasons," Riddle replied patiently. "You are killing in revenge. Those are your emotions running your actions. You are killing your imaginary tormentors. In your subconscious, these tainted victims of yours are the same tainted men and the women who killed your mother and father. Why don't you acknowledge it for what it is? It's simply _you _picking a target that fits your specified tastes and slaughtering it." White teeth flashed into a smile. "You are no hero. If you like to think of yourself as one, then by all means, continue to do so. But you must also acknowledge that you are a killer and you're doing it because you _enjoy _doing it, you need to do it."

"I acknowledge your ability to read people," Harry admitted. "You're insanely good at it. But I think you read me poorly. I know I kill, I know I enjoy the _hunt_. But I also know I _do _save others—"

"You're saving yourself; you're saving your parents. You were helpless to do anything the first time around, so now you're compensating by trying to save these helpless victims."

"Does it really matter if I think that?"

Riddle seemed frustrated as he slid his chair marginally away from the table and crossed his legs. "I'm trying to get you to stop seeing your parents and your past tormentors."

"You're trying to turn me into a cold, apathetic assassin who kills upon command. _Your _command."

The smile the Dark Lord gave was entirely ominous. "I think it is impossible to turn you into an apathetic killer. Empaths are incapable of _being _apathetic. Tell me, Harry, why do you make your victims die with smiles on their faces, as if they experienced pleasure past the pain they obviously felt? Why do you allow them to see your face and identity before you kill them? I think… I think you feel a twisted sense of remorse for your victims. I never want to take that away from you, it shows that you are still human."

Perhaps it _was_ a sign of remorse. Maybe it was a twisted sense of justice for his victims. Harry had never been granted with his tormentor's identities. In his days in hell, he kept wishing he could see the faces of his tormentors before he died. It had been the only thing he had wished fervently for. Harry's victims always felt pain, but in the ending strike, they were able to feel a semblance of pleasure and happiness. Was that really remorse?

"Remorse would be an emotion. According to you, an intelligent killer doesn't experience emotions," Harry remarked dryly, looking up at the enduring and calm Dark Lord.

"It all comes down to the fact that intelligent killers don't make their kills extremely personal. They are free to feel the adrenaline, the satisfaction, the excitement, the _remorse, _but he should never feel as if he's doing it to save the memory of his lost mother and father." Riddle tapped his fingers lightly on his crossed knees, smiling pleasantly. "Of course, there will be kills that are personal. But an intelligent killer must distance himself from his target and not let his emotions rule his actions."

"It all sounds reasonable," Harry coincided darkly. Riddle's words were pressing down on him, forcing him to wonder if his methods truly were objectionable. But then he remembered himself and his current position. He was sitting across from a masterful manipulator. "But I already distance myself from my kills, besides the obvious ones where I lost control because of my lack of Occlumency." Harry leaned back against his chair, smug. "I don't need adjusting, Riddle. I am not another one of your pet projects. I agreed to work with you because you threatened the lives of my friends. And in return, I just simply need _your _assistance to hunt down my parents' murderers."

Crimson eyes never gave anything away to Harry's declaration. Instead, Riddle concurred with a slight inclination of his head. "And you will receive my assistance. In fact, I have invited someone to my manor this evening that should provide us with some answers." Riddle waved a hand, opening the door to the dining hall. "Before we can meet with him, I have an assignment for you that I'd like to discuss with a few others…"

Just as he said it, a group of familiar-looking wizards entered the room. Much to Harry's immediate pleasure, Lucius Malfoy is in the lead.

Smiling darkly, his conversation with Riddle easily pushed to the side, Harry braced both hands on his armrests, eager for what was to come.

* * *

I had to cut this chapter short. Next chapter should deal with Lucius/Severus/Harry/Riddle interaction… I may bring Barty Crouch Junior in as well. I haven't decided (or written it) yet. You'll also get Harry's first 'assignment', answers/clues to Lily, and you'll hear further about McLaggen and Draco (Harry does like to taunt Lucius, after all).

Also, I wanted to give a huge _thank you _to those of you who reviewed last chapter.


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